Patient Confidentiality
by Mademoiselle Anime Amour
Summary: Dr. Amelia Harland is fast becoming known as one of the best, most promising psychiatrists in Arkham Asylum. However, her supervisor suggests a case for her that could change her life. Will he undermine her ambitions and damage her brilliant mind? Amelia digs deep into the mind of the brilliant but twisted Jonathan Crane.
1. Prologue

**A/N: OK, just editing here, guys, mainly changing Amelia's age. For some reason, I originally had her at twenty-seven then forgot and had her at twenty-six after this prologue. Weird...I wonder if this falls under the Writers Can't Do Math trope on TVTropes, ha. It was just me wanting to use an odd number for once in terms of a character's age, but nope, went right back to even number again. Anyway, I know it's a really, really minor detail but one that would have bothered me if I didn't fix it.**

**This is to those of you who are possibly re-reading the story or whatever. To those who are new to it, welcome, I hope you enjoy. It's a doctor OC/Crane story, but it will be so much more than just that going on, I promise you.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, not even Scarecrow (but, ohhhh, if I did...;D)**

* * *

**Prologue**

Gotham, Monday morning at eight o'clock, and the city buzzed with activity. Mostly, it was over half of the population going to work. Whether they were lawyers in the courtroom or mere office workers typing away in cubicles, they all headed to their destinations in clockwork fashion. The same thing happening every day, from Monday to Friday, the fine citizens driving or walking briskly.

Unfortunately, for Dr. Amelia Harland, she found herself somewhat concerned over her potential tardiness, as she was stranded in the midst of a traffic jam. At least fifteen vehicles waited in front of hers, but all she could blankly stare at was the bumper of a Prius.

She had been in this very spot for ten minutes, but it felt like years as each vehicle in the pile-up slowly crept past the green stoplight. She didn't even have a rough estimate as to how many light changes there had already been. All she knew was that she'd been reluctant enough as it was to go to work. This horrible traffic jam just made it all the worse for her, most definitely trying on her patience.

Amelia had sincerely believed that post-university (a Ph.D. in Psychology, naturally), she wouldn't dread these slow Monday mornings. However, it seemed that no matter how old you were, you could never shake the nervous anticipation and the onslaught of exhaustion that Mondays brought.

More than ever, as she crept up a few more feet in her black Honda Civic, she longed to travel back in time. To last night, when she was settled cozily in her couch with her calico cat Persephone curled up in her lap. She'd watched HBO and been overall lazy. But, it was a nice kind of laziness to seek refuge in, to relax. To escape.

Now, though, she hoped to get her busy job over at Arkham on time. She couldn't exactly let her current patient down.

Initially, Amelia had chosen this career path to understand the human mind better, more intimately than most people. Especially with criminals, who were mysteries all in themselves. With criminal psychology, she could attempt to understand why these disenfranchised people opted to take out their negative thoughts and emotions on others. She didn't know why she thought that prospect attractive, figuring them out like that. Maybe due to her keen insight, she could help these criminals as much as she could before they were released. After that, if they would be back on the streets, they would hopefully be productive citizens and never think of committing crimes again.

She did like to help, no matter how demanding her position was.

At twenty-six, a year out of grad school, she'd had five cases under her belt and had been quite successful with them. Her naturally soft voice tended to coax these patients into admitting deep, dark secrets they would have shuddered to reveal otherwise. It was relieving for her to do some good in the world, as far as Amelia saw it. And she appreciated that her patients could relax around her, eventually being candid with her. Indeed, these patients had since been released from Arkham and hadn't been involved in any violent acts since. Every breakthrough was the ultimate success story to her, not her salary.

Finally, after waiting impatiently for five more minutes, she got through the stoplight. Now, it was a straight shot to Arkham Asylum, where she worked in the Intensive Treatment building for patients more addled with their problems, more troubled. As rewarding as her career was, though. Amelia was nonetheless tired. With one hand, she reached out toward the cupholder to get her Starbucks iced mocha. Quickly, she drained the dregs of her cup to get her caffeine fix in.

All the while, she let the radio play to also get her day going along with forcing herself to stay awake. Currently, "Pictures of You" was playing on her preferred variety station, a mix of bands and solo artists, pop, rock, and contemporary. Amelia idly hummed along, fondly remembering what she could of the late 80's as the Arkham gates came into view.

She had a patient today she'd been working with for five months. Her progress was astounding, even though she was never once a criminal, only a sufferer from multiple personality disorder. However, she was learning to find her inner self despite this condition. Amelia couldn't be prouder.

It might have been the Starbucks kicking in, but she felt self-assured and ready for her work today. As long as she helped people, there was nothing to complain about.

Tucking some of her pale blond hair, in a tight ponytail, behind her ear, Amelia strode purposefully down the hall, her red pumps clicking on the tile floor. Shortly after the nine o'clock appointment with her patient Clarisse Harris, her supervisor Dr. O' Riley had called her office saying that she needed to speak with her regarding a new case. She felt nothing short of reluctance as she apprehensively made her way to Louise O' Riley's office.

What was it? Couldn't it wait until after she finished up with Clarisse? She only wanted to make certain that somehow, some way, her patient would be well-tended to and looked after once she switched cases. Inevitably, she would have to at some point. That was the way it worked in Arkham.

"You wished to see me, Doctor?" Amelia inquired upon knocking politely before entering.

A bespectacled brunette woman glanced up from her laptop. "Ah, Dr. Harland, you got my message. As I told you, I think it's time to take you off the Harris case. She's been improving drastically in the past two months, undoubtedly thanks to you. Now, granted, she very well may have to talk to a different doctor for a few additional weeks. But, you have done amazing work in your short time here, Dr. Harland, and that has not gone unnoticed. I haven't, for one, seen an Arkham doctor accomplish so much in so little time since…"

O' Riley fell silent abruptly, not daring to voice one particular elephant who stood imposingly in the room. It took Amelia a moment to realize just who exactly O' Riley spoke of. She knew bits and pieces of his backstory such as how, at age twenty-eight, he had already made quite a name for himself. One of Arkham's finest doctors…but one more Gotham tragedy.

"Thank you, Doctor, that's high praise," Amelia replied quietly, internally wondering whether to be truly flattered or not. Given the fate of the former doctor, she was skeptical over the compliment.

"Well," O' Riley cleared her throat, her mind still on the tragedy, no doubt, "considering you are showing great promise here, I believe that I should recommend to you more complex cases. In fact, one of the regulars just got readmitted last week. He was arrested after he was caught…drug dealing, in the technical sense. To the Joker, Two-Face, the Riddler…Anyone he could find."

"Sounds like whoever it is, he's desperate."

"It's…Scarecrow."

Damn. She had to give up her pet project of her now former case for that…that poor excuse for a human being? Inconceivable!

She couldn't possibly dream of one-on-one time with a man who didn't have the capability to see the light. Someone could have saved him once, preserved his sanity, but it wouldn't have been a doctor here at Arkham. It should have been a relative or a close friend.

"Pardon me, Dr. O' Riley, but shouldn't a more experienced psychiatrist work with him? I'm not sure if I can possibly tackle this. He is one of the more extreme villains who've been locked up in here. I might find my personal safety threatened," Amelia said honestly, addressing her concerns.

"That's why there will be guards posted nearby, whenever you need them. As for competency, you have proven to me and many others from our staff what a natural you are at your work. In fact, this is what I want you to do. I want you to tape record the sessions. This is a very important case study, which will be beneficial for your career. After this, you might be able to transfer out and have your own practice. Or get promoted to a higher position in our staff," O' Riley explained more thoroughly.

Of course. The potential to receive even better pay and a more esteemed position hung over her head. Inwardly, Amelia acknowledged to herself that this wouldn't be a simple task or even a pleasant one. Or rewarding if he resolved to break out of his cell one of these times, defeating the purpose of what could easily be her life's work. She knew she certainly wouldn't be too happy with Scarecrow if he had the audacity to take that away from her.

From the sounds of things, this case study could make or break her.

"When do I start these sessions with him?"

O' Riley looked as though she checked something on her laptop before confirming, "Tomorrow. He's been in one of the most tightly secured holding cells, but it's hard to say when he'll attempt to break out. The sooner you start the sessions, the better."

It was only logical that this be the case. It didn't mean that Amelia detested it any less. As of tomorrow, she would be dealing with a formidable foe who could rival her in every possible way.

Well, let the game begin.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, yeah, Crane is mostly based on the Arkham Asylum version, which I found delightful and mysterious. Glad that you never got to see his face either. The shrill laugh though...eh...It was just OK. My portrayal is based on that and the (couldn't resist) Cillian Murphy version. I seriously wish my friends and really just more people in general have heard of this amazing and talented actor, seriously. He's like second to Johnny Depp in my book. Come on, Academy, give these two Oscars NOW! Just because they just so happen to be good-looking doesn't mean that it detracts from their acting ability. The Academy's really bad about that.**

**But, think about it, guys. Sean Penn, though talented, is disgusting to look at and they've given him TWO Oscars. This is a theory I'm working on, the correlation between actor attractiveness and lack of Oscars, just kidding. Don't get me started on how talentless I think Channing Tatum is. XP**


	2. The Personal Life of Dr Harland

**A/N: Can we pretend I didn't say anything yesterday regarding a certain new movie? Hm? OK. Don't really like giving out spoilers, but hey, when a geek gets excited...You know nothing! Anyway, here's the next chapter to get my plot ball rolling.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: The Personal Life of Dr. Harland**

Despite conducting two more appointments that morning, they were brief ones at that, with Amelia simply checking up on those patients. The rest of the day, she found nothing better to do but to pace up and down her office, thinking of the first major case of her. Scarecrow.

The level of difficulty associated with him would be astronomical, especially since he'd been under similar circumstances before. He would know right away what would take place. Other members of the staff may have considered her brilliant, but that was nothing compared to this man. In fact, what Amelia primarily worried about was that Scarecrow would seize control of her mind and irreparably damage her. Then, she would end up in one of the asylum's most strictly operated holding cells. And she would not like that.

No, he was no Killer Croc, all brawn yet very little brains. What struck her the most with dread was his intelligence. A genius criminal was the most unnerving type of all.

However, if she went in with that frame of mind tomorrow morning, he would automatically hone in on that. Expand on it. Capture her totally in his ever growing addiction for fear. He fed off it like the most sadistic horror movie character. A Freddy Krueger or a Michael Myers came to mind.

If Amelia aimed to succeed with these sessions, she would have to remain calm.

Out of curiosity, after having lunch in the cafeteria later on, she shut herself away in her office and researched him. Scarecrow, formerly Jonathan Crane. She had to admit that it was a damn shame that he went from respected doctor to twisted criminal. At the same time, it sickened her that some…_monster _like this used to be a doctor. Treating patients or, more than likely, ruining them with his experiments.

Bile rose in the back of her throat, yet she determinedly kept on. Apparently, the last doctor who had spoken with him ultimately committed suicide a year ago.

His specialty was in fear-inducing drugs and toxins that he'd invented himself, as was widely known. Why did such a mind have to be wasted in harming Gotham? For, there had been several escapades that had led to his most recent arrest, more attacks on the city. Three weeks ago, for instance, he reportedly had sprayed toxin on certain members of the city council. During a town hall…Several witnesses telling the police that they'd heard shrill, maniacal laughter.

Eventually, the council members were cured via an antidote that wealthy yet resourceful Bruce Wayne provided.

An interesting but mostly chilling story.

"Sick bastard," Amelia muttered, doubting more and more of her abilities to cure him. The man was incurable, simple as that.

She sighed, "I can't do this," and was about to e-mail O' Riley before a message popped up in her inbox:

**Hi, Amelia**

**I was wondering if we could hang out at our favorite bar tonight. I think it would be a great end to a lousy Monday, wouldn't you say? Only if you're free, though, that is. I know how busy you are most of the time, but you do deserve a break. Respond ASAP.**

**Thanks,**

**Cate**

Amelia couldn't resist smiling upon skimming the e-mail from her friend and colleague Dr. Catherine Nelson, someone with whom she'd instantly hit it off when she first was new. Cate was two years older than her, yet this didn't make a difference in their friendship. What was the most beneficial about being friends with her was that she had a professional side along with a sparkling, free-spirited one. In other words, she knew how to have fun, something Amelia assumed she could never stop learning.

Her job required so much of her personal time away that she rarely spent time on herself except for weekends and the occasional night out. Because of this, she rarely pursued serious romantic relationships, only saw other men. Actually, she had been seeing a man named Mark Young recently, and she was supposed to meet up with him at a Thai place this weekend. As pleasant as he was, Amelia immensely looked forward to this third date with him. If she kept this up, she just might go steady with this endearing attorney.

For now, Cate's idea sounded very much appealing to her, as she also didn't go out with friends (or, rather, a friend) that often. The bar they both preferred, Harry's, was a trendy, classy place. Not like some bars, which seemed too much like run-of-the-mill brothels or saloons.

Happy to respond, Amelia sent her reply e-mail within a minute.

**Cate,**

**I'll be happy to take you up on the offer. After what I'll tell you when we meet, you'll know why I could really use a drink.**

**Amelia**

_No kidding_, she thought bleakly, massaging her temples. She should be satisfied with being presented with such a great opportunity as her next case would be. If she did well, her star in Arkham would rise even higher.

However, didn't anyone realize that this was Scarecrow they were talking about? Amelia refused to think of how she would cope with him for the rest of the day. Instead, she opted to research more on him, to see what was under his Arkham file. Even though that yes, she didn't want to come up with any ideas as to how to deal with him, she had out more about him. That way, she could gather a fair assessment on him and his previous crimes before the guards sent him in to her.

So, Amelia Harland worked obsessively until five o'clock.

* * *

She stopped at her apartment home briefly for a bite to eat (to get some food in her system before she went out drinking), watch the news, and check up on Persephone. Her two-year-old cat still had plenty of food in her tray and greeted her adoringly once she came in. Persephone's sweet, gentle nature contrasted from how most other cats would have reacted if their masters finally came home after a long day at work. Most other cats would have been resentful, with their tails haughtily stuck up in the air. Persephone seemed to understand.

However, this didn't stop Amelia from playing with her beloved cat with the toy catnip mouse and petting her velvety soft belly. She smiled fondly as Persephone started purring and batting away at her hands with her de-clawed paws. Even through her highly stressful job, she always had time to take care of her pet. It made her feel less lonely in a way…

Earlier at Arkham, Cate had e-mailed back suggesting that the two of them meet up at Harry's around six-thirty. So, close to that time, Amelia left in her Honda to drive downtown where her destination was.

Once she noticed Cate up by the bar, ordering her drink, Amelia called out her friend's name.

The light brown-haired woman waved her over in response. "Amelia, hey! I'm glad we can hang out together like this. You got to have some fun once in a while, even if working at Arkham is rather on the demanding side."

"Ah, fun…" Amelia half-shrugged. "Between working hard all my life and my current job, I think I lost sight of what it meant a long time ago."

Cate shook her head, skeptical. "Not totally. You make sure to share girls' day and night outs with me. You can't be that bad off. I'll meet you at that booth over there after you've gotten your order."

For, she had just received her order of a fruit cocktail relatively quickly. As it was before seven, the bar hadn't gotten overcrowded yet, much to Amelia's satisfaction.

She simply ordered Chardonnay and then, shortly thereafter, retreated to the booth that Cate had pointed out to her. It was off in a little private corner of their own, which was agreeable considering that the topic she wished to bring up had to be kept secret. Only Cate was entitled to know who she would be interviewing tomorrow. Unfortunately, Amelia wouldn't be able to fill her friend in on any details whatsoever.

The Arkham policy of patient confidentiality and all that business. Not like she necessarily thought that these criminals deserved the same rights and privileges as non-criminals…But, it was only fair for them to at least feel free to speak to their psychiatrists without judgment.

"I decided on a cocktail. Part of me was craving a margarita, but hell, it's Monday morning. I'm not showing up to work tomorrow hung over. Unlike _some _people over in the X-ray division…like Dr. Mayhew for instance. Oh my God, you wouldn't believe him last week, barely fighting not to slur his words."

Cate happened to work in the X-ray division as well and didn't much care for Dr. Mayhew and his occasional lack of professionalism. As someone dedicated to her career and ensuring that no missteps were made, Amelia could easily identify with her on that level. Cate was never one to gossip with ill intent, but she liked making her opinions known. That was why she was such a great conversationalist: she kept things fresh.

Amelia sighed. "I can't imagine why he would show up hung over. I mean, X-rays are fairly important. If there is such a thing as karma, someone would have reported him or at least caught him."

"Yeah, well…He got away with it…Now, what's this you got to tell me about the reason why you wanted booze so badly?" Cate's brown eyes glinted teasingly as she clasped her hands in front of her, eager to listen.

She may have been avid about hearing the story, but Amelia felt less inclined to actually tell it. Somehow, admitting her most major patient of the year (more like of the century) would confirm it even more. It would implicate that these sessions would take place and that they would be with the self-described "Master of Fear" himself.

As her parents had vaguely suggested, maybe she should have looked at other places to practice psychiatry instead of a loony bin.

Taking a long, long sip of her white wine, Amelia resolved to get this out in the open before it ate away at her too much. "All right, here goes nothing. So…Earlier this morning, Dr. O' Riley called me into her office. She gave me all sorts of nice compliments like how talented I was at my work and with me so young…You understand, she buttered me up. Then, she told me I wouldn't be working with Clarisse anymore."

Cate's jaw dropped in shock. "You're kidding! You were doing so well with her. It was really no secret how well she was learning to cope with—"

"Yes, yes," Amelia cut in impatiently, carelessly waving her hand. "I know. That was a nasty shock for me, too. And you won't believe what she said next. I was advised to leave my current case in favor of a more pressing one…of a criminal."

"So, who is it? Ivy? Mad Hatter? Oh, Amelia, don't tell me"—and here, Cate's voice dropped to a whisper—"Is it the Joker?"

"No, worse, I'm afraid. Cate, it's…It's Scarecrow I have to start seeing tomorrow. Along with taping my sessions."

Somewhat bewildered by this discovery, Cate mouthed, "Holy shit," but didn't actually utter it. She refused to curse severely in public due to her belief that it was vulgar and unbecoming of her. But, she had every right to swear in this instance. Amelia had done that plenty inside her head today.

Her heart sinking lower toward her stomach, she idly tapped a finger against her glass, dissatisfied with this outcome. It honestly would have been better if Cate would tell her that this case wouldn't be so agonizing. That she would complete treating him in a few short weeks due to her sharp instincts. Rather, her friend reflected what she felt, and it was written all over her stunned face.

"Unbelievable…Wow, Scarecrow…Jonathan Crane…He had to be the brightest doctor Arkham has ever seen. Everything he did in his work was flawless—most people here wouldn't argue with that. But, Amelia, it's going to be dangerous with him. He's as intelligent as you, if not more so." Cate, out of agitation, took a large gulp of cocktail. "And you do know what happened to Dr. Martin, right?"

How could she ignore that fact or not even acknowledge it? It seemed to be permanently etched in her mind, the suicide of Dr. Herbert Martin. The part of the tragedy that tugged at her heartstrings the most was that he'd left a wife and two beautiful children behind. Whatever dark magic Scarecrow had worked on his mind certainly had had its intended effect: an innocent man dying. All because he'd volunteered to help Scarecrow in a last-ditch effort to have him back as Dr. Crane again.

When, Amelia realized, it had been virtually hopeless at that point. Scarecrow had no mercy. He had used fear as a weapon on other people several times before. And he could never go back. Never.

She tossed back her head to drain the remainder of the wine before admitting, "Honestly, Cate, I don't know what I'm going to do. For now, I'll do what O' Riley recommends. If he plans on being treated, I'll do that. If not…Well, promotion or no promotion, I have no intention of wasting my time on a lost cause."

"But…But, listen, he will try to mess with your head. Make no mistake about that."

Amelia shook her head so as to block out the image of her friend's overly worried dark eyes. "Of course not. If he does take things too far in terms of messing with my head—say, if he comes to a session with a secret stash of his toxin—I will put him in solitary. I've worked too hard to have him ruin everything for me."

"Careful." She'd rarely seen Cate look half as solemn as she did now, with her brown eyes ever rounder and larger and her voice low in warning. "From what I've heard from the older doctors, _he _had sounded just like that before…before he'd snapped. According to them, they think that he'd seen the staff as pawns standing in his way. He wanted to do more with his patients than they would have liked to have seen from him."

Amelia ran a hand through her loose pale blond hair, thoroughly exhausted with this conversation. She found herself baffled that her ambitions would be compared to those of Crane's. First and foremost, she was nothing like him, no matter how much Cate apparently preferred to think otherwise.

"I'm a career woman, Cate," she emphasized, her dark blue eyes flashing intensely. "I'm only focused on doing the best in my field. I'm not a sadist like Crane so obviously is. I would _never _do anything like what he did to his patients. I would rather die before sinking to his level."

Cate clicked her tongue, sighing, an obvious sign of her surrender. "Sorry if it seemed like I was implying that. I really wasn't. Anyway…Our conversation got way off-track, didn't it? So, how's Mark?"

As a well-versed psychiatrist, Amelia could determine that this was a weak attempt at a subject change. Mark normally made her smile. But, tonight, she found herself inept at that.

Both her career and her life would change somehow, and both she and Cate knew that.

* * *

**A/N: I would advise you guys to pay close attention to what I just put in this chapter. Dundundun, a comparison between Amelia and Scarecrow! Like Crane, particularly in Batman Begins, Amelia has workaholic tendencies and very high ambitions. In fact, she's vaguely like Penny Young in Arkham Asylum too, come to think of it. But, mainly I wanted to compare Amelia with Scarecrow because the dichotomy there is between them as well.**

**Oh, heck with it, I don't really need to point any of this out. Just enjoy the story, guys. Hope it's passable for a Scarecrow fic anyway. Even though I'm building suspense before he shows up...XD**


	3. Session 1: Battle of the Minds

**A/N: I couldn't resist putting up this chapter today. You'll see why.**

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**Chapter 2: Session 1: Battle of the Minds**

"Here you go, girl," Amelia gently told her cat as she treated her to some tuna. "That ought to hold you over for the day."

Persephone attacked the food tray as adventurously as usual, her teeth sinking into the canned tuna. Amelia looked on, amused at the way she chewed, jaws going up and down ferociously. She was hungry all right.

"Well, now that you're fed, I'm off …to start with Scarecrow."

Confiding in Persephone eased her troubled thoughts regarding this new patient, one with the potential to do great harm to her. Once she stepped into Arkham today, there would be no turning back. No backing out from this plan because this was a serious threat she would have to contend with. Judging by O' Riley's faith in her, no one else could come close to pulling it off.

That didn't prevent her from worrying over nonetheless. If she was the one hope to treat Scarecrow, the only one, then it was hopeless. He could obliterate Arkham and the brilliant minds that ran it. As simply as if he snapped his fingers, he could seize control. Though not a physical force, he had the brain capacity. Again, the concept that the intelligent villain was the scariest out of all possibilities hit home to her.

She glanced down at Persephone rubbing against her bare legs, purring affectionately. More absentmindedly than normal for her, she scratched her furry head, picked up her purse, and set off for the Starbucks across the street.

* * *

The corridors seemed longer and more vacant this morning as Amelia strode briskly toward one of the therapy rooms. She didn't dare risk her office in case he should act out. No, it would be more suitable to hold these sessions in a therapy room, nearer toward the holding cells. Inevitably, she would feel safer that way. She clutched the tape recorder and her clipboard close to her, blue eyes watching warily for him. After all, she couldn't be too cautious, what with all the tricks he had up his sleeve.

He could break free from his guards' clutches if he so wished.

However, that appeared to not be the case since she reached her destination without incident. The room lacked when it came to superb decoration and furnishings, consisting only of a framed copy of a drab painting, filing cabinets, a desk and chair for her personal use, and the typical lounging couch for the patient to lie down.

_And be strapped in_, Amelia thought darkly, pondering over the idea of incapacitating him in that manner. He wouldn't pose a threat to himself or others, mainly herself. She wondered if she could get away with presenting that concept to O' Riley. How well would her supervisor take it?

Amelia took a good look about her surroundings, to see what she could do with them. The desk she could probably omit; the clipboard on which she would jot down her notes would suffice enough as a surface.

Besides, if she sat behind this desk, it would serve both as a physical and a metaphorical barrier. It would mean that already she prepared to hide from him. She could imagine Crane going out of his way to exploit even such an insignificant detail as that. As an upstanding career woman, she would boldly face him with tape recorder on the desk, clipboard on her lap, and only space separating the two of them. She would fight him every step of the way, proving to him that she wasn't naïve, not the dumb blonde.

"Dr. Harland," a deep, gruff voice spoke from behind her just shortly after she moved the chair out from the desk.

Perfectly placid on the outside, it wouldn't have been blatant to the casual observer that her heart plummeted. Indeed, Amelia very inaudibly groaned that the voice belonged to, undoubtedly, a guard.

He was coming then. And here she had feebly hoped that he would be driven into a terrible fit of insanity. As if he'd constantly shown it off to everyone.

"Yes? I take it my patient is coming?" she inquired for confirmation.

The guard nodded stiffly. "Yes. I'm supposed to stand just outside the door until another sentry guy comes in with him. In case there's a struggle, you know."

_He won't leave_, Amelia thought assuredly with a touch of smugness, _he's too smart to put up a physical fight here._

But, he could be biding his time, waiting until the pinnacle moment before he attempted his escape. A scenario that she would rather not occur, or she would be the first one to hinder him.

"All right. I'm glad you two will be out here. Thank you."

"You're welcome, m'am. Well, I hear Chris coming down with him now. Good luck. I think you'll need it."

She smiled wryly. "I think so, too."

Luck, she would consider that a mere want in comparison to what she needed in the case study. Try heavy medication, enough to make him drowsy and slurred in speech but not an excessive amount to knock him out cold.

Tempting, she privately confessed in her mind, but she would be breaching policy.

Half the ideas that were surfacing would dangerously breach policy to the point that she would be fired if she followed through with them.

Would broken rules be so wrong when it was namely justice?

Amelia, without further ado, pressed play on the recorder. "It is March 26th, patient interview number one. I'm Dr. Amelia Harland, and today is my first session with Jonathan Crane, otherwise known as Scarecrow."

"Dr. Harland," another guard addressed her through the glass-paned door.

Perfect timing, almost too punctual in her opinion. Nevertheless, she opened the door for him and a certain figure lurking behind him.

"All right, in you go," the guard (or Chris, as that other one had called him) sternly told the man, shoving him further into the room. "And behave yourself. There's going to be hell to pay if you damage Dr. Harland like you did with the last one."

Amelia stood firmly where she was, heels planted on the floor, while she coolly assessed her newest patient.

He appeared every bit as demented as she assumed he would. He wore brown slacks, simple enough, yet a burlap shirt and heavy boots were included in the outfit. On his right hand looked to be sharp claws which were in actuality, upon closer inspection, medical syringes. Both hands were in leather gloves.

And the mask…That grotesque mask repulsed her because it was this accessory he depended on to strike fear and paranoia into his victims' hearts. A dark brown hood framed the burlap piece with breathing tubes attached.

As for physical appearance, she definitely wouldn't have been able to tell with the mask, obviously. However, piercing light blue eyes gazed out of it toward her. He was currently in the process of judging her as well. Hmph, well, let him judge away while she silently patronized him more and more by the second.

He towered over her five foot four frame, unfortunately, for she wished that she could be superior to him in at least stature. It would have given her a sense of heightened power over him.

Honestly, six feet tall? Then again, she'd forgotten about the information on him that mentioned his physical looks, which were irrelevant. If he'd been five foot six, she wouldn't have been so irritable over height difference.

At length, after the two of them had finished studying each other in their quiet face-off, Scarecrow sneered, "Oh, don't worry, Chris. I usually try not to break my toys—at least not _intentionally_."

Was that supposed to send a chill through her? Cause her to inadvertently gulp out of nerves? He shouldn't attempt to make her laugh.

"I'll leave you to it." And Chris lumbered out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Amelia turned to unabashedly face her patient, a deceptively polite smile on her face.

"Well then, let's get started on this session. If you will please sit over there"—she directed him to the lounge chair—"we can begin."

Scarecrow promptly obeyed by doing as she instructed. As she thought, too; he would humor her initially before trying to turn the tables. He would soon see how allegedly incompetent she was.

Quite complacently, she seated herself on the chair directly across, smoothing down her navy blue pencil skirt. The picture of intent professionalism, she slapped the clipboard across her lap, pen at the ready.

"Wouldn't you much rather sit at your desk?" Scarecrow asked in a tone that made him sound as if he was the licensed psychiatrist in here.

Another coldly polite smile flitted on Amelia's lips. "I prefer that there isn't a desk in my way, Mr. Crane."

"Scarecrow," he smoothly corrected in a nearly condescending way.

It seemed as though he was having the time of his life in the condescending, though, a manic glee that he could be the dominant one. When it would come to these sessions, she would ensure that his manner of speaking wouldn't mentally throw her off-guard. It wouldn't be too difficult.

"Mr. Crane," she pressed on, writing on the clipboard that he had mild delusions in which he full-heartedly embraced Scarecrow as his real name, "I think that to start things off, we ought to discuss—"

"You forget my title then, Dr. Harland." He lazily clicked the needles on his hand, as though they were inconsequential. "You are well aware that I once worked here as—"

"And you seem to have forgotten that your license was revoked two years ago without the possibility of you re-obtaining it," Amelia countered. "Now, _Mr. _Crane, I will not be interrupted again."

Under more normal circumstances, she wouldn't have dreamed of speaking so austerely to a patient. For one, it wasn't the ideally serene setting she preferred, with the patient being able to talk freely, to say whatever was on their mind. But, this was not a normal circumstance, which simply could not happen in this case. Scarecrow played mind games equally as well as the Riddler. He would stop at nothing to topple an opponent.

The mouth that she could see behind that open seam of his mask quirked upwards in a sociopathic smile, his cold eyes gleaming. "If acting like this, like you're in total control of me and the situation, helps you cope with your own insecurities…Who am I to interrupt you? How rude of me. Please…Go on with what you wanted to say. I'll keep quiet."

How appalling, the nerve of this man! Only the first day, and he clawed at her in a power struggle to reassume his position as respected psychiatrist. Basically, he probably missed his cushy job by trying to usurp hers, trying a role reversal.

Dropping the pretense of her lying smile, Amelia murmured lowly, "You seem to be conveniently forgetting who is in charge of these sessions. It's me, not you. I'll be honest here, just between you the patient and me the doctor, complete patient confidentiality. I'm willing to help you. But, for now, this isn't going anywhere due to your insistence that you should still work at Arkham.

"As for my—what did you call them?"—she rhetorically questioned, raising a brow. "Hm, yes, insecurities, I have none about my job. I believe I can call myself your replacement, actually. I'm the best they have to offer you, and they're very aware of that. Quite frankly, Mr. Crane, I have nothing to be insecure over.

"I think that will be all for today," she spoke more loudly as a signal for the guards to come in. "Only ten minutes. Shame. Oh well, as much as I would have liked to ask you my questions, it's not that urgent. Today was supposed to be a day of introductions anyway, nothing much more than that. However, I plan on seeing you twice a week, perhaps more. Depends on what kind of progress you will make, Mr. Crane, but only if you're willing to cooperate."

Though calm verging on frosty, she ensured it was all an act. Deep down in her heart of hearts, she was screaming with frustrated rage. This was not how she'd planned on starting off these interviews! Forty minutes was supposed to be the duration today, then forty minutes every time afterwards.

Scarecrow, Crane, whoever he really was…had already uprooted those plans. What other choice did Amelia have but to cancel the rest of it? He clearly would fight with her, clash with her, and challenge her in a way no other patient had dared to before.

As she watched Chris and the other guard lead him away, he glanced over his shoulder and commented with a twinge of bitterness, "You are able to detach yourself quite well. A true psychiatrist in every sense of the word. You fail to entertain me, Doctor."

"Sorry to disappoint, _Doctor_," she retaliated in a considerably lighter tone but no less snide. A lapse in professionalism, she could acknowledge, but a vindictive part of her couldn't resist. She was fairly sure that her eyes glowed spiritedly as well, near-gloatingly.

Ah, not smart, not smart at all. She demeaned her status within the Intensive Treatment staff now by saying that to him. It didn't mean that she regretted it, though.

Scarecrow snorted derisively but otherwise remained silent as he was frog-marched the rest of the way out. The door was soon closed behind them. Amelia clicked her tongue with a vestige of the twitching smirk on her lips.

She'd outright deserved to get back at him for the sakes of Dr. Martin, his family, and all the other victims he'd subjected to his large-scale "project." As far as she saw it, her behavior toward him was for the greater good. If he thought for remotely a second that she'd be this docile lamb…

Shaking her head from this disaster of an interview, she leaned against the desk to tell the tape recorder her conclusion for that day.

"Jonathan Crane so strongly identifies himself with his alter ego of Scarecrow that he refuses to be known by his real name. Or perhaps Crane is his alter ego? I will say that it's difficult to tell for now, but I do know this is one of likely many of his defense mechanisms. He seems to blur the line between the two as well, I noticed. He presents himself in a relatively sane, albeit demented, way.

"However," she brought up, her eyes narrowing, "he seems to have taken it upon himself to run my sessions, at the very least this one. A tactic he used on Dr. Martin, from what I understand it. I have let him know it won't be tolerated. My future objective is to cut through his defenses to get to the real Jonathan Crane. I'd certainly like to know who that person is and what his motive is regarding his fear experiments. Tomorrow, I plan on hearing the exact circumstances behind his latest arrest. Hopefully, he will not interfere again."

Once she finished up, she realized that both hands clenched on the side of the desk, so tightly that the knuckles gradually turned white. Was Scarecrow threatening to fray her nerves? She would hate to affirm that he'd succeeded. He really hadn't.

"He's not wreaking havoc on my mind," Amelia promised herself, her jaw set in ruthless determination. "I'll be damned if he does."

She collected her things and then turned out the light as she vacated the room.

* * *

**A/N: OK, so physically, Scarecrow is meant to look like the Arkham Asylum version. However, I was pleased to find in the "file" that he had blue eyes as well. I would have been disappointed if they'd given him brown eyes. For some reason, I think blue eyes would suit him better. They can be freakier and more transfixing than dark eyes in a way. That and because of the Cillian Murphy version, duh. XD Oh, and what I liked even better was that in the game, they didn't show Scarecrow's real face. Keeping the mystery, yeah! I like that.**


	4. Session 2: From Dr Crane to Dr Feelgood

**A/N: So, this is chapter three. And yet another session. What will Amelia find out in this one, I wonder? XD**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Session 2: From Dr. Crane to Dr. Feelgood**

That night, Amelia lounged on her couch with the TV on playing an old Humphrey Bogart thriller. It was just something she'd happened to flip to, though she found it addicting to watch. Well, maybe fascinating surmised it more aptly. The particular film _Key Largo_ seemed to fit her situation at the moment somehow. Her life, within twenty-four hours, had managed to become a suspense movie. With the shady antagonist in the form of Scarecrow looming over her, she as the unyielding protagonist had to stand her ground. She could not allow him to win over her like he'd appeared to have done today. She refused.

In the meantime, she had her cellphone pressed up to her ear, as she was currently talking to Cate. One bright spot in an otherwise dismal "acting" career was that Amelia possessed an ability to produce light-hearted conversation out of nothing. Really, she felt far from cheerful, what with the events from earlier. She'd been so angry after her session that she'd tugged at her hair and even pulled some out. How could she be happy-go-lucky when that was happening?

"And somebody put Dr. Mayhew on suspension, thank God. Something's telling me he's going to be fired real soon. So, should I ask how it went?" Cate asked, referring to Scarecrow's interview. "You don't have to spill all the beans to me, just…just give me an idea."

Amelia rubbed deep circles in her forehead, waiting for the Advil she'd taken ten minutes ago to relieve her massive headache. "It was more awful than I'd expected, Cate. He was horrible in terms of cooperation. Let's just say that for a fact."

As Humphrey Bogart leaned in to heatedly kiss Lauren Bacall, she glared at the screen as though it offended her by portraying that scene. Oh sure, that woman could get along with that man…Amelia rolled her eyes.

Cate sounded like she understood and emphasized with the scathing bitterness in her friend's voice. "I'd hate to say I told you so…"

"No, he didn't try to attack me or anything like that, if that's what you think," she snapped. "He was just…He acted like he was king of the roost, but the thing is, Arkham is not his roost any more. Why does that son of a—?"

"You could always get out of it," Cate suggested almost meekly. "You still have a chance to. You can go back to working with Clar—"

"No!" Amelia shocked herself by nearly shouting. "I can't. I have responsibilities, Cate, I'm an adult. Besides…I'm the only one who can do this. Not to mention if I back out of this now, Scarecrow will exploit that. He'll come after me. I'm not giving up now."

She heard a deflated sigh on the other end. "I figured you'd say that. That makes you tougher than me, Amelia. You're such a fighter. But, I've really tried warning you. If you don't want to listen…"

"Cate, wait, I'm sorry—Cate!" Amelia grew alarmed due to the thought that she might lose this woman's friendship over such a silly, petty thing.

Cate hung up.

"Dammit," she cursed, ready to throw the cellphone away from her to dispose of her increasing fury. Her friend backing out of their conversation like she had only added fuel to the fire.

She muttered acidly to herself, "I'm the professional here. Clearly, you're not."

Amelia didn't know what to feel. A day in to these pointless interviews with Scarecrow, and was she honestly going to let him tear her apart? Would this end up being a strain between her and Cate?

At that moment, Persephone sensed she needed comforting and hopped up on the couch.

Amelia groaned, "Get off me," gently pushing her off.

This was one of the worst days of her life, without a doubt.

The next morning, Cate greeted her at work with an awkward hello when they both checked in at work. Grudgingly, Amelia returned the greeting, not in the pleasant enough mood to go beyond that.

"Sorry I hung up on you last night," Cate apologized.

She shrugged with a vaguely indifferent snort. "Doesn't matter. But, please don't play my mother next time."

Half-dragging her feet to her office (not too advisable with heels), she picked up her tape recorder and clipboard to head on down to that dreaded therapy room. She'd scheduled Crane early today, at eight-thirty, so he possibly wouldn't be alert or lucid enough to hijack her session again. That and she would go out of her way to get this over with. Then, she could forget him the rest of the day. For that reason alone, she'd penciled in her plan book two more appointments. There was no way he would emerge victorious.

The first priority she set once in the abysmally plain room was to press play on the recorder that contained a fresh tape.

"March 27th, patient interview number two. I'm intent on progressing further with Crane today after the many shortcomings of yesterday."

"Shortcomings, quite an understatement."

Amelia didn't react outwardly but did slightly jump on the inside. She was startled by the abrupt entrance and yet not shocked. Perhaps he was attempting to induce her with paranoia to set her up for a breakdown.

_Nice try_, she thought as, with an impassive expression, she turned around to see Crane held up by the arm by Andy, the other regular guard.

"Mr. Crane," she addressed him, deliberately ignoring his monotone yet biting comment. "Good morning. Please sit down, and let us get started. I plan on this lasting longer than ten minutes."

Andy left while Crane settled down on the couch but not before giving her a loathing glance.

She perched gingerly on the edge of the chair, crossing her ankles. "So, Mr. Crane, how did you feel about yesterday?"

"Indifferent. This isn't the first time I've chatted with the likes of you."

"Naturally. Although I would have thought you had thought about how much you missed your previous position. Your position of power, in other words."

Crane simply gazed at her blankly with little reaction before mentioning, "Come to think of it, I was the slightest bit frustrated at yesterday's events."

"Were you?" Amelia asked in mock surprise, as though he'd shown her a kindergarten-level drawing he'd sketched just for her.

"Mm, yes, I was. I was exasperated at the incompetency demonstrated. I do believe I would be able to examine myself better in a mirror than to have you tell me what's wrong with me."

She very imperceptibly shook her head as she almost mean-spiritedly jotted down "tends to speak highly of himself, possible superiority complex."

A pressing urge demanded that she entreat him into diagnosing himself and going through her questions himself. His arrogance and self-conceit proved to her what she already knew: he held no remorse for his crimes. No trace of that feeling for any of them. Even now, Crane wanted to say these harsh words to her, to inflict her with shame.

"Trying to humiliate me won't work, Mr. Crane," she said with a real but not very kind smile. "For, I have the confidence to be sure that I won't end up where you currently are in your life."

"And taunting me won't work, Dr. Harland. I don't have any feelings to spare," he refuted, with a malicious glint in his eyes.

Amelia inclined her head, recognizing her partial immaturity. "Point taken. Before we waste any more time volleying words back and forth, I would like to ask you about your arrest. What did you do, exactly?"

Bingo! This appeared to be one particular topic that piqued his interest. She figured as much, what with the practically feral way he perked up, like a carnivorous wolf. Another dead giveaway was the manner in which he puffed out his chest, very pompous. Ready to reveal his story.

"It was Two-Face's men I was caught with. The rest of the rogues and I were trying to come up with a loophole-free way of taking over Gotham City. Of course, since I absolutely despise depending on others, I would be the sole provider of a mass production of toxin."

As he related the tale, Amelia keenly noted that a pronounced manic glitter shown in his eyes, and he continued exponentially more boastfully, "And instead of putting it in the water supply, I would simply give portions of it to my other constituents…for a fee, of course."

"How much?" she inquired, resolving to humor him.

The eyes enlarged more. "Two hundred for those who went deep in the trenches for them…And five hundred for them, of course. I anticipated that the Joker and Two-Face, particularly, had come across some boons in their time. Besides, I desperately needed the money."

To manufacture more of the toxin, she assumed. At the same time, she had to slightly sit back out of astonishment. A former doctor produced this substance for money. In his former field, he could have spent worthwhile hours in the lab perfecting drugs that could assist people, what with his skills in chemistry. Instead, he had chosen to make something lethal, something that caused frightful agony.

He had been Dr. Crane once. Now, a turncoat, he was nothing more than a drug dealer. "Dr. Feelgood" wasn't just a song. It was reality.

"And what did you want to do with all these contacts? What were you planning?" Amelia asked, tapping the tip of her pen against her lips and sickened at the answer that lay ahead. It took no rocket scientist to figure out what the evil plot was.

Crane smirked vilely. "Your guess would more than likely be right on the mark, Doctor. The other criminals in league with me would have done whatever they wished with the toxin. But, all in all, we would have eventually taken over Gotham and brought it to its knees. And because of my part in it, I would have been the reason for its demise."

At this point, he'd proceeded to half-rant to himself concerning that grand scheme he'd concocted, which Amelia found immensely troubling. This was definitely a sign of a man not feeling the slightest hint of guilt over his actions. Rather, he remarked fondly upon them, like cherished memories. The only regret he did have was that his desire didn't come to fruition, that of a shattered Gotham with him on top. Above all the wreckage and devastation.

She could practically feel a surge of uncharacteristic hatred for Crane, which went beyond the unbiased approach she normally practiced. But, she simply couldn't tolerate the fact that he had hurt people with his toxin before and now expressed the longing to do it again. That lust for fear was evident in his voice, in the caressing tones, as though fear was his lover. And maybe it was. He allowed it to enshroud him, to possess him, and to shape him into the manifestation of that negative emotion itself.

_You're so damaged_, Amelia thought almost plaintively, _beyond all possible repair. There just isn't any real method to cure you._

"Let's get back to the story at hand," she reminded him, drifting out of her train of thought. "What were the circumstances surrounding your arrest? A mere bust? Or maybe something more…"

"Ah, yes, a tip-off to the police," Crane responded rather lightning-quick. "That was what led to our arrest. Someone from Joker's gang heard a nasty little rumor that I was charging Two-Face's men fifty dollars less for my wares. Predictably, this falsehood riled him to the point he didn't care if _I_, the seller to them all, got arrested. Which, I might add, totally defeats the purpose of the plot I'd worked so hard on. My beautiful plan…ruined. And it was all that snitch's fault."

When he spoke this last sentence, his husky voice lowered in volume to an irritated growl. This compelled Amelia to write down a possible theory: "may or may not want revenge against informant who had police apprehend him."

She could make her bias obvious by opining that he got what he deserved, that not every customer could be relied on to keep him out of Arkham. However, she liked to believe that she was exceedingly more mature than that and thus maintained her listening silence.

Evidently, there was nothing more for him to reveal, for Crane eyed her suspiciously. "Are we quite done for the day, Doctor? If you don't mind, I would very much like to return to my cell."

How remarkable. He wasn't going to challenge her to anything (any extreme dares…) or abruptly spray toxin in her face? Amelia couldn't help but admit she found that peculiar.

He could play the part of a civil, polite, and carefully put-together man very well. Too well, as all good sociopaths did. Likely he was biding his time still until the moment called for him to strike. Associated with crows in his villainous name, yet he reminded her more of a viper. A viper that could kill an unsuspecting victim in one fell swoop.

"Well, Doctor?" He narrowed his eyes menacingly.

"You may leave, yes," she granted him permission. "I'll see you next Tuesday."

That proposition clearly displeased Crane as he rose from his chair, barely sighed, and muttered bitterly, "Much to my reluctance."

Amelia briefly debated within herself whether or not to acknowledge that she heard him. She decided she would as long as he didn't recommence his wild ravings again. Otherwise, this session would be another half an hour long.

She raked back a loose strand of her hair. "Mr. Crane, let me be frank with you. You basically set yourself up for these patient interviews when you were out on the street dealing fear toxin. I was just as reluctant as you were to be in charge of your sessions."

"But," she added when she espied him opening his mouth, "I didn't lie when I said I wanted to help you. This was just the first week out of an unforeseeable amount of time. I don't know how long I will be seeing you. Perhaps as long as it takes for you to make a breakthrough."

For once, it appeared that her deluded patient was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth again, only to shut it once more. Right in front of her, he gaped like a fish, which was probably something that injured his pride. So quiet was it that Amelia heard one of the guards cough out in the corridor.

Finally, Crane responded with a crooked leer, "A breakthrough. Your faith in me is touching, Doctor. Quite moving. A pity I don't believe a word of what you just said. Talk in the cells tells me that you're only in this for a promotion."

She narrowed her sharp blue eyes at him impulsively. "So what if I am? Whether I get a promotion or not is irrelevant to your case. I'm happy with my current position. Guards, you can come in now."

And as Chris and Andy took Crane by the elbows, he smirked complacently at her yet again. "Discuss me but not yourself. Of course, Doctor. Let that doubt overtake you."

Doubt sometimes led to fear. He would encourage that, stoke the flames.

Amelia continued to frown at the door long after he left.

* * *

**A/N: Never seen Key Largo before in my life. Saw part of it on a best movie kisses special but that's about it. So, basically, Scarecrow is trying to be sadistic in using her. But, Amelia isn't going to put up with that crap.**

**Oh, the chapter title came from a joke I made to myself when I was watching The Dark Knight, the beginning of it. See, Scarecrow's in it briefly, dealing his toxin, and I was like, "He went from Dr. Crane to Dr. Feelgood."**

**Naturally, I cracked myself up. XP So yeah, see you next update.**


	5. Date Night

**A/N: I'll admit this is kind of a filler chapter. But, this is supposed to shed more light on Amelia's character and what her love life is really like. This will also come into play later on in a way, so this isn't a total waste.**

* * *

**Chapter 4: Date Night**

Amelia was furious with herself the following evening while she prepared to go the extra mile in looking attractive for Mark. Even as she put on clip-on diamond earrings (too repulsed to pierce her ears), she fumed concerning her patient. What could she call him in her thoughts?

Scarecrow? Crane? Scarecrow/Crane? Whatever way she sliced it, he threatened to drive her up a wall.

That last session, he'd gotten the upper hand. Damn him. Let doubt overtake her, his words echoing in her mind and continuing to do so long after he alluded to it. In implanting those words alone, he'd fulfilled his objective, hadn't he? He wanted to allow the fear to perpetuate in her.

"You're assuming you planted the seed of fear in me?" she murmured to herself, brushing out her slightly wavy hair that she would leave long. "Oh, you're very frightening. I'm shivering."

How did he come up in her thoughts anyway? As customary for her, Amelia had the weekend off, two whole days off work. She should be thankful, relishing the prospect of going out with Mark, the incredibly cute man that she somewhat fancied. In fact, he should be the one that she focused on, dreamed about. Or was the attraction not strong enough?

Regardless, Jonathan Crane (Scarecrow, she angrily corrected herself, as he didn't have any human decency to be known by real name) ought to have been out of her thoughts for quite some time.

Amelia winced as she yanked at a tangle, and she reached for her lip gloss resting by the sink. For a moment, she inwardly reflected on Crane's eyes.

Therein lay the difficult problem, the reason why he insisted on being so unforgettable. The eyes were too vivid and penetrating, probing searchingly to try seeing right through her professional façade. What with the prior experience, he probably had an accurate character judgment on her by now.

After all, he'd been locked in his cell for quite some time when not pleasantly chatting with her. More than enough time to think and dwell on his therapist, to figure out her weaknesses that he detected.

She could identify her main one as her tendency to get vindictive whenever she felt personally wronged or that others had been wronged. Her strong sense of justice was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing that she was able to empathize and curse that she sought out vengeance.

Dr. Martin needed avenged and so did his family. Crane drove him to the edge and waited for him to fall. There was nothing more sadistic than that.

And, she considered as she applied her peach-colored shadow, nothing half as cruel.

It all came back to his pale blue eyes that peered behind the mask, pitiless and stony in their gaze. Those eyes held power, none of which Amelia had ever seen in a pair of eyes before.

Oddly enough, they were nowhere near as ordinary. They were tools and weapons at the same time. She could never trust them as windows to the soul. As far as she could tell, Crane hadn't one, perhaps never had at all.

A bit of mascara later, Amelia closely inspected herself in the mirror, approving of what the reflection showed. According to her, it showed a strong, beautiful woman capable of tackling the world and whatever it had to throw at her. Let Crane attempt to wheedle her into possessing any self-doubt.

Self-doubt? Ha! She wore a turquoise skirt (flower print) and a sleeveless white top. She couldn't have had any more confidence at her disposal. No need to look around, groping in the dark, to find it.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. "Doubtful indeed. Not tonight, Mr. Crane."

Sniffing disdainfully, as though he was there in the bathroom with her, she strutted out of there.

* * *

En route to the Thai restaurant that Mark had positively raved about, Amelia chanced a glance in the direction of the Narrows. Supposedly, that was where the police caught Scarecrow, thanks to their incensed source.

It was no surprise that, in order to do shady dealings, he'd gone to the shadiest part of the city. Its black heart, so to speak, the place that concerned parents told their children not to go to at any time for any reason.

And why should they go? The mob held reign in that direction, marking it as their territory, while the homeless helplessly begged for change. Mangy rats nested there, fittingly enough.

For a brief moment, Amelia wondered why the authorities hadn't left Crane behind in the Narrows, where he could live for the rest of his life. That sounded like real punishment to her, not dragging him to her to have their sessions. She pursed her lips in thought.

But, before she knew it, she'd nearly passed her destination. Cursing under her breath, she desperately sought out an adequate parking spot. Then again, she realized, she hadn't needed to drive herself to her date. Shouldn't Mark have driven her? That was usually the proper thing to do.

Then again, chivalry was dead, especially if it involved getting off work early. He was a busy man, after all. Hmph, likely he wasn't even at his preferred eatery yet. Like her, he'd also been preoccupied with a monumental case.

Those complete imbeciles at the courthouse had elected to put Two-Face through an introductory hearing next week. The actual trial wouldn't be until next month. Apparently, holding an insane man accountable of yet another crime (as though different from all his many others) was a very, very big deal.

He'd been in and out of Arkham several times. What would stop him from escaping before they carried out the trial? If anyone ought to be on trial, it had to be Crane. He'd made all this happen.

Through her clenched jaw, her annoyance with her patient as well as the ludicrous trial mounting, Amelia smiled politely when a waiter said hello to her and may he show her to a table? It wasn't a very formal restaurant, but most of them ran like this nowadays. Her theory was that it was to make diners feel secure in case any of the rogue gallery should burst in. Or any imposing, strong criminals like Killer Croc and Bane.

In fact, she entertained the notion that the whole city should be surrounded by yellow police tape. No one in, but no one out either. Or maybe the repeat offenders could be dropped off on a deserted island with nobody but each other.

_Oh, and how long would Crane last? Five minutes? _she thought snidely, tapping her fingers on the table idly, waiting for Mark.

No, she answered herself, he would actually be one of the last to die. She could picture him in that mask that would be stifling, given the tropical climate, as he sat under a palm tree. While sipping from a coconut, he would merely watch his colleagues kill each other for amusement.

Convulsively, Amelia's lips twitched. She could not explain why.

The minutes passed agonizingly, one by one, and she kept getting asked if she would like to order yet. No, no, it would be rude to eat her meal by the time her date showed up. If he showed up…

She could sense her pink lip gloss becoming less glossy the longer she waited. Looking down at her silver wristwatch, she saw that it was seven-fifteen—no, seven-sixteen.

As patient as she tried to be, Amelia let out a long sigh. Mark was worth it, though. He had charm and practicality and wit along with several other shining qualities she deemed worthy in a man.

Then, how come she had yet to feel a remote spark of intense attraction with him? She liked to talk about him with Cate, but she was less mystified by him than she let on. Especially tonight, unfortunately.

They'd mutually agreed that seven would be a good time for their date. But, who knew they would have him working on a Saturday evening?

Seven-twenty, he still wasn't there. Seven-thirty…Seven-thirty-five…

Suddenly, he strode quickly through the entrance door, his brown eyes seeking a familiar face. At that moment when he first came into her line of vision, Amelia's heart didn't pick up speed. Instead, her stomach decided to grumble particularly loudly.

She forced a smile. "Mark, hi. Work held you up?"

Mark smiled back apologetically as he ran a hand through his wavy black hair. "Unfortunately. Sorry to keep you waiting, Amelia. I hope you didn't have to wait long."

"Oh no, not at all," she lied serenely. "I was late myself, actually. Fifteen after, by the time I got here. Heavy traffic."

Without the creation of the white lie, she would have found herself in even more awkward situations—or, rather, increased the awkwardness of them. She tended to use white lies to smooth things over, to hide what she truly felt. For, she was somewhat irritated that Mark showed up as late as he did. She simply couldn't help it. Nonetheless, at the same time, she didn't set out to make him feel guilty about it.

"Oh. Well,"—Mark looked relieved as he sat down—"Nothing worse than Gotham traffic. So, you haven't ordered yet?"

Amelia laughed good-naturedly, almost meaning it. "Why should I have when I was waiting for you? I'm not that rude, Mark."

She sensed that she was an actress taking on a plumb role in a romantic comedy whenever she interacted with him. Even over online conversations. Admittedly, she failed to understand as to why she maintained this distance. Well, maybe she did…

The case distracted her too much, surely, this intense dislike she held toward Crane. Wasn't it? No, no…maybe not even that. She knew, but she would never make that confession, even to herself.

"Of course not." He shook his head, letting slip a charming smile. "This is my favorite place, great atmosphere and everything. I figured you'd like something not that usual."

Amelia would grant that. However, if he was going to appear as tardy, she was uncertain over being so adventurous to taste a new dish. Part of her craved for the richness of fettuccini alfredo. One could never go wrong with classic Italian.

When Mark asked a nearby waitress for the menus, she took the opportunity to skim her options. Obviously, the names of quite a few of the choices were like reading in a foreign language. Much to her embarrassment, she kept asking Mark what the names translated to. It was a good thing he was up on that. Still, she realized she should have looked up Thai food online before coming here.

"So…I think I'll order moo dang. I think. What is it again, exactly?" Amelia inquired of her date, chagrined that all the Thai words would be jumbled in her head.

"Barbeque pork."

"Oh, right. Thanks."

As it turned out, Mark, being a vegetarian, ordered grajiab tod, which was basically okra. She did find that interesting about him, that he wasn't at all inclined to eat meat. If only she could think half as healthfully.

But, her mind was elsewhere, ever focused on that case. She could only assume that the man across from her thought about his.

As they waited for their orders to be placed at their table, she coyly folded her hands under her chin and curiously inquired, "So, how's the Dent case working out?"

Mark sighed, clearly not too happy to discuss work. "Well, as you can see by how late I was, it's been murder. Not even to the hearing yet, and it's just been so much work. I'm going to be prosecuting, so I've already been gathering evidence. I'm considering asking Crane to testify."

Amelia didn't know whether to angrily stiffen at the mere mention of his name or roll her eyes at the likelihood of his cooperation.

In fact, she advised, "I wouldn't do that. He's definitely not the helpful type."

"Oh, so you've been working with him?"

"Unfortunately. He's been nothing but a pain."

Mark's eyes narrowed. "Has he threatened you? Sprayed you?"

"Surprisingly, no. But…It's only a matter of time."

No kidding. Metaphorically speaking, she'd been glancing over her shoulder to see him caught in the act. He obviously held nothing but animosity toward her, very much a strong dislike. His bad, less-than-honorable intentions would hold especial plans for her. A subject of his latest experiment perhaps.

Luckily, at that moment, they received their dishes, so no more was talked about regarding either of their cases. Amelia felt relieved. She might have brought the topic up, but she had found it unpleasant.

It was all unpleasant business, honestly. A drug ring bust, a man apprehended due to his men getting involved, and a demented ex-doctor who kept antagonizing her…She wished none of it had happened. How come some other poor soul hadn't been chosen to interview him?

Oh, that's right. Surely, any other doctor would have caved under the pressure, been coerced right into _his _hands. Like she was any more capable?

She attempted light-hearted conversation with Mark, but it came off as blasé and a bit on the trite side. Not to mention it turned out his smiles from earlier were merely a cover-up for a disgruntled attitude.

He had shockingly little to say, running a hand through his hair occasionally that signified exasperation. Lawyers' working hours were to blame, no doubt. Over the half hour they ate without much talk, Amelia's sweet smiles directed toward him faded upon her noticing that his dark eyes were clouded in deep, serious thought.

Odd, for the two dates before had been fun, chatty. The last time, they'd cheerfully bantered over politics! Exhilarating, right? She'd certainly thought so at the time…It'd proven to her he had a brain…

Oh, who was she kidding? She realized by the end of the date that this couldn't possibly work out. Firstly, Mark admitted not quite having enough money to pay the bill plus a decent tip, so she had to do it for him. Secondly, that issue implied that he'd forgotten they even had a date at some point during his hectic day.

And thirdly, Amelia could safely conclude that the initial sparks of attraction that had gone on between them completely sputtered out.

As Mark walked her to her vehicle (the least he could do after this pitiful excuse for a date), she turned to face him to say what was on her mind…

But, he jumped in ahead of her. "Amelia…I…I don't think this is going to work out."

She shut her mouth, tightly pursing her lips. "Why do you say that?"

"Well…We're both career people who have busy schedules. And our dates have, honestly, not been that great."

_Not even the first one?_ an insecure place in her mind questioned.

Aloud, she told him, "It was a pleasure to be in your company then."

As though this had been nothing more than a business dinner between two colleagues. Her dating skills had gone out the window by late high school, that much was true to her.

However, Mark said nothing except a somewhat chilly "Goodbye then," before retreating to his BMW. He must have been disappointed that she didn't make a passionate plea for him to keep seeing her. Just like men to want to see desperate women crying out for their attention.

Amelia got into her Civic, closing the door with slightly more force than necessary. Outwardly, she'd appeared detached, not too fazed by the failure of another casual relationship. Now, en route back to her lonely apartment, she was seething.

"That son of a bitch," she muttered. "How dare _he _tell _me _it's not working out? Playing his role as a man, is he? Funny, then, how he never picked me up and how I always had to pay for the—!"

She proceeded to curse so violently that she would have made the average Gothamite blush.

What could she do to impress anyone in this godforsaken city?

_His fault_, she internally thought while she raged, and she did not mean Mark Young either.

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**A/N: That last line implies Scarecrow but at the same time not...Anyway, even though I really am not using the Cillian Murphy portrayal, I do appreciate how skilled he is at eye acting. Like you can tell what his character is thinking without him saying a word. I did like the idea of how Scarecrow's eyes ought to be analytical to the point of scary, like he can see right through a person. And since all you could see (in your head anyway) is his outfit and the mask in my story, I obviously have to talk about the eyes a lot. And body language, which I need to get more in-depth to with this story.**

**Jeez, feels like I talk more to myself than you reading audience half the time with my ridiculously long A/N's. XP Oh well.**

**Oh, BTW, at one point, I considered to have Amelia drinking wine and crying at her apartment at the end of the chapter, but it didn't seem like her. Besides, she's not supposed to break that easily. Otherwise, Scarecrow's job would be too easy...**


	6. Session 5: Short Fuse

**A/N: Ohhh, the final Batman movie is less than a week away! I am PUMPED! XD In the meantime, here's this chapter. And things are getting really heated, really intense in this one. Finally.**

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**Chapter 5: Session 5: Short Fuse**

Over that week following her crushing disappointment of a date, Amelia behaved at work as though nothing fazed her. She nearly overenthusiastically threw herself into her job one hundred and twenty percent, as opposed to the one hundred and ten she usually committed herself to. Already reticent before that week, she withdrew further from her colleagues, refusing to talk much even during lunch break.

All she focused on were her handwritten notes concerning her case study, attempting to figure out what made him tick. Why was he persistently looking for the opportunity to overpower with fear? Other such questions came to her mind while she would half-heartedly munch on a limp grilled chicken salad.

At the same time, though, she worried that this was becoming an obsession.

If Crane succeeded in (as strong and horrid a word as this was) raping her mind, leaving it less shrewd and capable, she would consider her career unsalvageable. So, naturally, she had to ensure that it remained unaffected, to go on and assist other patients. No way would she find herself in a padded room in this asylum.

Amelia soldiered on, regardless of her third break-up within a span of ten months, determined to continue her work. On the surface, she was quite efficient.

But, in the evenings, she lately took to flannel pants, oversized band T-shirts from college, and a night in front of the TV. Not eating ice cream, for she deemed it too cliché but the packaged oatmeal cookies she loved as a child. With Persephone in tow, it was a regular night in with movies such as _North by Northwest _and _The English Patient_. She was fond of the cinematic classics, which made her forget the dismal loneliness of her life.

She relied heavily on those DVDs that week. Two more sessions with Crane, she found herself back to square one. He suddenly didn't want to talk.

Indeed, he resisted every step of the way in sessions three and four, which partially surprised Amelia yet didn't. Session two had clearly been a lapse in a personality that was normally far from candid. Crane must have sensed in that session that he had revealed a great deal about his love affair with fear and his grand scheme, too much so. He ultimately reverted back to what he triumphed at in the fourth session, dodging questions left and right.

At one point in the fourth session, when Amelia prepared to open her mouth, Crane cut in, "Let me venture a guess, Doctor. You aim to ask what my childhood was like."

After disbelieving stammering, she retaliated, "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Crane, I—"

"Scarecrow."

Both of those sessions had lasted no longer than fifteen minutes, something that enraged her. Must he keep dancing around the point, avoiding her questions and being a thorn in her side?

The only good thing that happened the whole week was that she properly made amends with Cate who said she'd never resented her. Shocking, how some people still wanted to be friends with her in spite of her sharp tongue.

Even with that positive highlight, she got to see little of her friend, for the case threatened to overwhelm her thinking, her time, and her life. And to top it off with a lackluster love life that couldn't even go off the ground, Amelia was truly exasperated.

The Tuesday after all this had taken place, she walked down the hall in her usual imposing manner, heels click-clacking, to contend with Crane.

The more she worked with him (or, rather, he worked with her), the less she saw him as a suffering patient. Suffering didn't fit into his vocabulary. Sadistic, of course. Powerful, unfortunately. And relentless, no mercy.

To her slight surprise, she found him already lounging in the patients' chair, lethargically tapping his needles against each other. Apparently, the reason he was allowed to keep them, Chris had told her, was because he seemed to demonstrate perfect sanity. In other words, he wouldn't attempt suicide but nonetheless required something with which to occupy his time. And as there was no toxin detected inside them, they were virtually harmless Amelia suspected otherwise, bit if having his needles left him entertained all alone, then why should the staff care?

Arkham security needed further tightening in her opinion.

As soon as she got set up, with her recording the introduction to session five, Crane didn't waste any time.

"So, how are you today, Doctor?" he asked, gimlet eyes assessing her in their coldly analytical way.

She would let this slide, as it was a polite question on the surface. "I'm well, thank you, Mr. Crane. And you?"

"What would you postulate regarding my answer?" Crane challenged. "Would you assume I'm well in the physical sense? I suppose I am. I would be exponentially better, however, if I wasn't trapped in an insane asylum I had formerly worked at for five blasted years. I would be much happier, much more content, if I could just return to my life's work."

"Expresses desire to torment helpless patients again," was the little note Amelia wrote for herself for future reference.

"So, you're so-so then," she concluded serenely. "Now, what I would like to discuss today, Mr. Crane, would be exactly why you wanted to—"

No longer nonchalantly relaxed, he sat straight up, icy eyes fixed on her with mouth set in what she thought was a very grim line.

"Always the insistence to discuss me, Doctor." An undercurrent of harsh sarcasm ran in his voice. "Why not the Joker or the Riddler or any other high-class criminal whose men practically lined up to receive my toxin to return to their masters? Of course, some of those neanderthals treat it like it's heroin, what with the way they test it out. I've seen that behavior firsthand, Doctor, and I can assure you that those men require your services exceedingly more than I. Better yet, let's discuss _you_."

Crane had said this quite often in the previous sessions to the extent that Amelia tired of his tenacity now. Before, she'd managed to put them back on topic without so much as a single word about her and her experiences.

This was different, she could tell. Her patient would not back down, demonstrating much resilience this time. She very briefly closed her eyes out of weariness. At that moment, she swore she needed a Tylenol, Advil…_something _to cure this throbbing in her temples.

Crane's rhythmic voice drew her out of her reverie, a voice that also held power.

"I fret over you, Doctor," he said in a tone far from emphatic. Rather, it was a mockery of that human emotion. "I have endless hours to myself in that cell, as you are aware. And yes, my mind sometimes wanders to you. And then, I have these ponderings and musings."

Interesting. But, this came as no surprise to Amelia, who believed that he was currently concocting some sort of revenge plot against her. Maybe she would finally hear it at last, hopefully in detail.

"All right," she acquiesced to his unspoken dare. "Enlighten me."

Crane tilted his head to the side, still assessing her as he explained, "When I have extended periods of time at my disposal, I tend to wonder about you outside the asylum. Outside, where I haven't been for quite a while. And then, finally, I always reach the same conclusion."

"Which is?" As much as she hated doing it, Amelia leaned forward ever so slightly out of anticipation.

"That this—our intimate sessions between us—is the highlight of your day. Outside of Arkham, you live alone…in a dour apartment, I presume. Perhaps a pet or two for company, naturally. That is why I fret over you, dear Doctor. Indeed, I'm more concerned over your…," he purposely trailed off to give her suspense before finishing, "Sanity."

Who was he to mention that when it came to her? She set her jaw angrily, her dark eyes flashing menacingly. Oh, he worried over her sanity all right. That was the one thing he intended to bring to ruin. She'd never felt so blatantly furious as she did now in this interview. It all built up and stewed within her in that one week: a break-up, a question she posed to herself as to why Cate put up with her shortcomings, and this man—this monster—lounging across from her. He waited patiently, expecting a catty rebuttal from her, as sure as the world.

She glared at him, revealing all her thoughts and emotions in the process. "We are here to discuss your sanity, Mr. Crane—or, rather, what was demonstrated by your criminal acts—a valid lack thereof. I demand that you stay quiet when I'm—"

"How much time do you spend alone in that apartment, I wonder?" Crane asked loudly, his voice audible enough for the guards to hear. "You're so busy with work-related matters that I suspect very little."

Her body conquered her more than her expansive mind did. Heat rose in the back of her neck, flooding her normally cool cheeks. She crossed her legs completely, one of the signs she hadn't wanted to show Crane. A sign of weakness, of an insistence to get away from him. To stop him from taunting her as relentlessly as he did.

Like she'd landed back in high school all over again, this shameful feeling.

She abruptly paid close attention to his mouth, the lips that she could just make out among the burlap. He basked in his temporary victory, for those lips quirked upwards in an arrogant sneer.

And those eyes that were all-powerful, the eyes that could penetrate anyone within that line of sight, gleamed with positive ecstasy.

While remaining in his relaxed position, he gazed directly at her, to watch her squirm, so to speak. "You probably find yourself with hardly any time, any free hours, to do anything. As young as you are, you are trapped in a dull, clinical existence. Out with friends rarely and most likely no love life to speak of…"

Foolish as she was in her fiery temperament, Amelia took the bait. "That's enough, Crane! You are not here to analyze me, as much as you miss your preciously comfortable position. Besides, you've given me an excellent angle. Did _you _ever have a love life? In college perhaps? High sch—?"

"And I suppose _you _were the sorority queen bee in college that all the young men couldn't wait to be with?" Crane shot back, genuinely wrathful and sardonic. "I paint a more accurate picture of you, Dr. Harland. I see a bespectacled girl, as virginal as pure white snow, reading incessantly in her dorm."

"Like you were any better! Double major in chemistry and psychology in six instead of eight plus years of college? I suppose you never partook in any sort of _extracurricular activities_."

Appearing to have somewhat cooled instead of being riled up from her words, Crane complacently crossed his arms behind his head. "I was a great doctor, better than you are now. Really, you should have…I suppose the crude phrase is 'hooked up'? Yes, you should have done th—"

"ENOUGH!" she raised her voice, utterly sick of his wheedling, twisted ways in order to get their sessions off-track.

In her rage, she stood up from her chair and, in two strides, was practically hovering over her patient. She struggled to breathe evenly, as shaken up as she felt. How dare he possess the nerve to imply that she was pathetic because of what she did for a living? And not just that but what she did outside of that…He'd crossed the line, and he knew it.

The smirk still twitched at his lips when he sat up straighter on the couch. "Did I strike a nerve? My apologies."

"Worthless," she growled viciously. "I should have known to stay calm when you were trying to anger me. Congratulations, you've succeeded. But, here is what you need to know, Mr. Crane, first and foremost. When you attempt to change the subject, I will not allow it. Or I will see to it that you be put in a straitjacket. Is that clear?"

Crane's smirk widened, though he remained silent.

Leaning even closer to him, so that her mouth and his ear (or close to it) was a hair's breadth apart, she hissed, "Is. That. Clear?"

He raised his hands disarmingly. "Crystal, Doctor. Though, I must say, I'm surprised that you reacted out of anger. I'd expected fear, cowardice, and rather timidly voiced words of retaliation. I thought you feared to be alone."

"Hardly," Amelia said shortly. "I can deal with keeping to myself."

"Can you?" His voice dropped an octave as he lifted his gaze to hers. "Can you, really?"

Unflinchingly, without missing a beat, she shot back with, "Yes. I tolerate it perfectly."

Crane sighed, shaking his head. "I meant emotionally—that is, you do have emotions, don't you?"

Her nostrils flared, and that familiar flush gradually crept up her neck again. "This session is over. Any more of these instances, and I might have to conclude that you are incurable."

"Do," he encouraged. "I'm not insane, you can attest to that."

"Maybe not incurable but impossible." Amelia told him acidly, disdain dripping off every word. "These sessions have been going nowhere, thanks to you."

"Whatever you say, Doctor." He stood up and, strangely enough, winked at her. "You can count on my word that I shall not inter—"

"I don't trust your word. I don't trust anything that comes from a fear monger…Scarecrow."

A bizarre something flittered onto his lips then, a cross between smirk and smile. Whichever one it was, Amelia could affirm that it was a disturbing sight to behold. And she never ever wanted to see a smile come from him at all. It wouldn't fit suitably on his lips. Nothing remotely like it would anyway.

"Thank you," he said insincerely, knocking on the door to tell the guards he was ready to go back. "You finally called me by my real name."

"It's only your real name in your own insane head. Thus, why I'm the one who's supposed to treat you. Mr. Crane, you have many loose screws, so to speak. Don't place yourself under any delusions. Good day."

His lips twisted again but this time into something that resembled a snarl. "Good day to you as well."

Good. She allowed herself one good shudder before turning the tape recorder off.

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**A/N: Bam! How's that for the intensity factor? OK, this chapter marks the beginning of things finally starting to roll. Oh yeah. I'm quite pleased with this outcome. Also helped that I was angry (possibly still am) with an a-hole guy at the time.**

**Reviews are motivation. ;)**


	7. Request

**A/N: **Sorry, guys, but this is a bit of a short filler chapter. Leading up to a HUUUUUGE chapter, then a bit smaller, then a GIFRIGGINGANTIC chapter! So, you will be in for something good shortly. My wi-fi sucked today, so I had to use the fam computer again. Sucks...Anyway, you guys' reception to the last chapter was incredible! Thank you, especially to Luna Marr who said that I managed to portray Scarecrow as a mix between Cillian Murphy's version and the AA one. That's what I was going for. I'm happy. Keep it up!

Last time, Amelia was nervous as all get-out...

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**Chapter 6: Request**

Amelia's hands shook so much that she could barely grasp the door handle to get out of the room. With one long exhale, she released all the stress of that dreadful session five, too much to handle.

Just five minutes ago, she'd been struggling to breathe from that suffocating panic. She might have had watery eyes. All she knew was that Crane had definitely hit below the belt and at an inconvenient time too...

She couldn't take it any more. She had to persuade Dr. O' Riley to take her off the case. Now. And fast before she massively broke down.

Going down the corridors at a nearly unprofessional sprint, Amelia felt that she momentarily lost her calm, calculating demeanor. It would only help if she could have it back. If Crane would have ever noticed her like this, he would have rejoiced in it.

But, then again, had he honestly expected her to quake and cry in front of him? Put on display just how unnerved she was? No, she was too smart to do that in front of him, considering his one focal obsession.

She barely knocked on Dr. O' Riley's door before she rushed in, telling her supervisor breathlessly, "You need to take me off the case."

Dr. O' Riley looked up from her laptop like she always did, staring at her confusedly. "Dr. Harland? Why, may I ask, are you making that request?"

"Because...Because..." She could not tremble, not now, so she ended up standing as stiffly as possible. "I feel like Crane is pushing me. I'm afraid he's closer to his goal than he realizes."

There, she said it. A moment of absolute weakness, she couldn't help but admit the truth.

Crane knew what to do involving people or, really, the ones he saw as pawns. He'd sit back and observe before applying that knowledge to destroy them.

O' Riley actually looked at her in an almost motherly way before gesturing to the chair in front of her desk. "Come. Sit down. You look stiff as a board."

_That was quite an understatement, _Amelia thought sarcastically, though obliged by sitting. She wouldn't protest anything coming from her second boss (if the head was the first). She almost felt like putting her head in her hands, but she didn't want to show how drained she'd become, not to mention vaguely depressed.

"Dr. Harland, it's unlike you to burst into my office like this," O' Riley pointed out calmly but didn't seem offended over it. "Why would you feel you're not up to this case?"

Oh, many things, an innumerable amount that would exhaust her just from recounting them.

Amelia glanced down at her hands that she'd started wringing without her noticing them that way. They were turning pale pink from the pressure.

She sighed, "I feel I won't be of much use if he drives me insane. He's proven to be my most challenging and difficult patient to date. Hardly anything about himself. He's...I doubt I can treat him."

She would obviously omit the fact that she'd practically screamed at him not quite an hour ago. It would put her in an unprofessional light that she would rather avoid. After all, she could be fired for something like that. Or not, but she didn't dare take that risk.

O' Riley, unshakably placid, said in response, "I opted to choose you to take on this case for a reason. You're one of the best doctors we have."

"You keep telling me that, and I thank you for the compliment. But, he insists on changing topic whenever I sit down with him. I've tried letting him know that I won't tolerate it, but he never listens. I'm not sure how much longer I can put up with this."

That headache of hers worsened tenfold upon her confession. At the same time, though, she wished she hadn't said anything pertaining to her sessions. She felt like she was letting the whole Arkham staff down. If she stepped down, that is...

"Coming up on six sessions, I'd say you're doing an excellent job, Doctor," O' Riley commented out of the blue. "That's farther than any doctor has gone with Scare—well, Crane."

"It is?" Amelia raised an eyebrow yet somehow knew that this made sense.

"Yes. It's impressive. The past three doctors who've interviewed him in the past only lasted no more than two sessions."

What was this supposed to imply? That she had an iron will? Abruptly sensing the urge to laugh at this folly, she lifted her hands to her forehead. She found it ironic. Just because she'd done so well didn't mean she'd last for the longer haul. She might break eventually, like all the rest of them had.

"I guess I won't quit this then. I can't exactly, even though I haven't made too much progress..." Amelia rose, perturbed that the backs of her knees seemed a bit wobbly.

She was about to leave when O' Riley mentioned, "He is listening to you in these sessions. He must be. Otherwise, he would have done away with you, in a sense, after the first one."

How reassuring. So? It only meant that he must have discovered a formidable opponent. She was apparently more of a threat to him than she'd previously thought herself to be. Crane would boost his game sooner than later after he bided enough time. But, so would she.

"That is an encouraging sign. Very well. I'll continue," she informed her.

As much as that man loved to toy with her...

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**A/N: **Third to last paragraph, HINT, HINT! Foreshadowing. XD Oh yeah, big time. OK, guys, so I'm updating on Friday to celebrate The Dark Knight Rises coming out. Hopefully, my wi-fi will be running perfectly by then, and I don't have to use this piece of crap I'm currently typing on for a long time to come. Hopefully, not ever again. This is seriously torture, like going back to medieval times!

That movie, I swear, is going to give me a heart attack, it looks sooooo amazing. Scarecrow? Pleeeeeaaaaase? XD


	8. In Nightmares where Darkness Lurks

**A/N: WOO-HOO, THE DAY OF THE DARK KNIGHT IS HERE! I'm sorry, I had to put that in all caps. It's monumental, and yes, that tragedy was horrible, but that's not stopping me from seeing it here in the Midwest. Nothing will stop me seeing that movie, which I'm going to see this afternoon! I'm so excited. I didn't even sleep that well last night, that's how hyped-up I was. So, wow, can't believe the number of hits here lately. I feel like this story is finally hitting its stride. Here's the big chapter today.**

**Oh, and to someone who reviewed last chapter: Yes, technically speaking, I suppose that chapter did have a purpose. I use "filler" too loosely, I realize that now. And yes there were spelling/grammar problems, but those were type-o's I didn't spot until too late. And all the little things...It's just I'm not professional here. You got to give me leniency for that. I'm not Suzanne Collins. I'm not JK Rowling. I'm nowhere close to their level. I know, though, that you like this story and thanks for that and the concrit. It was just overwhelming for me to digest and honestly, I felt like a crappy writer. So...thanks? I guess, I'm still unsure about how to take that.**

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**Chapter 7: In Nightmares where Darkness Lurks**

"Amelia, glad I caught you this early!" Cate called out from a few parking spots down from her own. It was really fortuitous that this should happen due to the rarity of this situation.

"God, we haven't really talked that much in the past few days, have we?" Amelia asked conversationally, ambling towards her.

It had indeed been a while. If that case hadn't taken so much precedence over her mind, then maybe she should have taken the initiative to schedule a few girls' night outs. Cate was always the one to plan them on the spot when she had time. To herself, Amelia thought she was quite boring and noted that was probably why she hadn't much in the way of close friends.

"I know we haven't, but then again, we _do _work in separate departments." Cate gave her friend a hug when they met up. "Besides, I've actually been keeping my distance. You know, ever since you told me that whole thing with Mark had imploded…"

"I'm fine," Amelia replied, shrugging indifferently. "Turned out he wasn't my type anyway. Just another disappointment."

Cate nodded in understanding. "I get what you mean. Seems like men aren't that interested in career women like you and me. I know I've been having a hard time. It could be not finding the right one yet. Anyway, let's say we go to Starbucks on Saturday night. I met someone I think you might li—"

"I'll think about it, Cate." Amelia started walking toward the Intensive Treatment facility before calling out louder, "I'll call you tonight!"

Maybe she would. Maybe she wouldn't. It all depended on if the case made her forget this morning or not. Besides, after Mark and every other man who didn't work out, she wasn't too keen on meeting this mysterious person at Starbuck's. No more dating for five months, that would be her strictly enforced rule. What was the use in trying anymore?

With that saddened yet resolute frame of mind, she unlocked the door to her office, carefully opening it with a half-warm cup of coffee in her hand. She was always on the go, much rather like Starbucks coffee. Well, it was her drink of choice for a reason. Sipping some more of that cappuccino, she went over to her desk where her work laptop was. She had to pore over every bit of Crane's notorious Arkham file again, to check if she missed something. Left out some key pieces that comprised him as the terrorizing criminal. There had to be something she missed…

"Dr. Harland," someone addressed.

She'd only turned around within a millisecond when a cloud of white dust was sprayed in her direction, causing her to spill her cup of coffee. It clouded her vision to the point that she couldn't identify the perpetrator. However, if there was one thing she'd done intelligently enough, it was that she had instinctively covered her mouth and nose with her hands. The instant that she was struck by that, the idea had sprung to her.

Nonetheless, that fraction of a second of utter bewilderment had been the slightest bit too late. Amelia was coughing, knees buckling, and horrifically aware that she'd inhaled some of that white spray.

"Shit, anthrax," she said to herself, voice muffled by her hands.

That was her immediate guess anyway. Who knew what it really was? That stuff could have been cocaine for all she knew. Well, one thing was certain. If she valued her life, she had to get the hell out of her own office.

And she did, practically running out, careful not to inhale any more of the spray than she had to. As soon as she deemed it a safe distance on down the corridor, Amelia finally allowed herself some air…

…But dissolved into shaking soon after. Not crying still but close to it.

Eventually, she regained her composure and got hold of a janitor a few hallways away to explain the situation to him. She warned him that it would be advisable to hold a cloth to his nose and mouth, as there was something dangerous filtering throughout her office.

Then, after all that chaos, it was on to Crane.

Predictably, he wasn't too chatty today. Amelia described it in her notes as…almost…_sulky _behavior. Now, that was unusual. He shouldn't have taken their quarrel so personally if that was the origin of his abrupt moodiness. At the same time, though, wasn't that a departure from how unaffected by another person's words he was? He struck her as a man who refused to care what anyone thought of him.

_Well, clearly,_ she mused to herself, _as he has managed to terrorize the city on more than one occasion. Would that be the actions of someone who was timid and wanted to naively be friends with everybody?_

"Are you going to talk at some point, Mr. Crane?" Amelia, unfortunately, couldn't disguise her boredom after ten minutes of silence.

"I don't understand…"

She perked up at Crane's softly spoken words, even though he seemed to retreat within himself with them. "You don't understand what?"

Pencil poised over paper, she could sense her very ears tingling for a response, any response, as long as he spoke.

But, Crane observed how she appeared then and snapped brusquely, "Must you jot down every damn word I say?"

This perplexed but more so discouraged Amelia who resignedly put her pencil and clipboard aside on the arm of her chair.

She coolly replied at length, "For your information, I jot down possible implications of what you say. I'm not a court reporter, Mr. Crane."

"No," he acknowledged before tacking on, "But, you're cold and detached like one."

Oh, honestly…As if they were that unfeeling in real life.

Idly taking up her pencil and clipboard again to write, she replied as if it were no consequence, "But, weren't you as well, Mr. Crane? After all, you were in my profession once. Didn't you have to detach yourself from—?"

"Only because I was planning out my latest experiment with every one of them," Crane said darkly, his muffled voice sounding more terrifying than usual. He sat upright, back rigid, though he clearly put on an arrogantly, fiercely proud air.

But, his eyes, intense and murky like his thoughts.

He regretted nothing from those days, no matter how many times he'd made people suffer. Whatever kind of heart he did possess had wilted and died a long time ago.

Amelia very slightly trembled in rage. "Have you no shame in what you did, Mr.—?"

"And stop calling me that stupid name I no longer go by. I'd disowned it the very minute I knew my true identity. It's Scarecrow, always has been, always will be." Crane raised his voice yet didn't exactly scream at her before he got up, gave the lounge chair one solid kick, and stormed off to the door.

Amelia didn't try to stop him, not remotely. She was aware that it would be a lost cause, persuading him to come back. His lapse in temper, though, had actually provided her with some more insight into him.

And suddenly, pity crept into her heart for him. She could hardly explain why. It was just that her psychiatrist instincts told her that Crane had plenty of concealed anger rolling off him in waves.

And that anger had stemmed from hurt.

* * *

Later that day, Amelia also sensed increased levels of anxiety within her. She shrugged it off, attributing it to stress from her job and how agonizingly slow progress with Crane was. At this rate, she doubted she would ever reach that dream breakthrough she quested for.

And in the afternoon, she paced in her office, answering phone calls and scheduling appointments when she could. Anything to keep her mind off him, possibly the devil incarnate himself.

That evening, nothing on TV could pacify her escalating worries, so she just shut it off. Persephone the cat begged to be petted, and so Amelia acquiesced but with a lack of a presence of mind. Persephone sensed this and so headed toward her bedroom where the catnip mouse was.

Eleven o'clock at night, she struggled to get to sleep and decided to call Cate with the message that it was doubtful if she could make it to Starbucks on that Saturday. Cate picked up and said OK, she understood and proceeded to ask her friend if she was sick.

No, no, fine, fine, have a good night, Cate. Hang up.

Near midnight, when Amelia at last drifted off to the comfort of sleep, she was in for an awful night.

* * *

_It started off mundanely enough with her interviewing Crane as usual and with him looking quite bored. Nothing out of the ordinary there._

_However, he soon took out a spray can and sprayed her with his potentially deadly toxin._

_Amelia ducked, made sure not to inhale, and was unpleasantly shocked to find that the floor had become entirely cavernous. There was no floor, none at all to speak of. Internally, she panicked and when she did fall (reminiscent of Alice), she screamed at the top of her lungs._

_Would it ever stop? Would it ever end? When would she die?_

_All those inquiries except the last were answered when she did hit the ground. Dusting herself off, she surveyed her surroundings but found herself in unfamiliar territory. Everything looked scattered, disconnected somehow. Parts of broken walls, bits of broken floor, all floating in a swirling vortex that miraculously didn't suck any of this in. And she was amid all this havoc with no way out, nowhere to go as far as he could tell._

_Well, what else could she do? Desperate times…_

_She turned her back against the vortex and readied himself to leap off the platform on which she stood. Surely, she would wake up after this._

_"No, no, I can't let you escape, dear Doctor," a scathing, distorted voice taunted her. "I have much bigger plans for you."_

_Amelia quickly swiveled her head his direction. Her stomach plummeted once she observed that a gigantic version of Crane stood before her. He wore what he normally did to the sessions except for the shirt._

_Physical appearance again she paid no regard to but the penetrating pale blue eyes. He radiated with a malevolent light around him, as though he was a fallen angel in Lucifer's employ. Those eyes caught most of it, and they pulsated with it along with scorching heat. They were made of white fire now, it looked like, hotter than the sun._

_Quite intimidating, yes, she would grant that but also…breathtakingly beautiful…_

_"Why aren't you panicking?" he gruffly asked her, leaning in so close that his gargantuan head hovered over her. "No screaming, no flailing—you aren't desperately attempting to jump! Why?"_

Think sand,_ Amelia instructed herself, _this is_ your _dream, after all.

_Gradually, with enough persistence, a bucket of sand formed by her foot. She inwardly grinned._

_Outwardly, she explained to Crane, "Now, Mr. Crane, I won't give you that satisfaction. You might have gotten the other doctors to yield to you but not me. You won't see me bend that easily."_

_"Hm." He smirked. "We'll just have to see about—WHAT? AHHHH!"_

_He cried out in pain, covering the eyes that she had poured the bucket of sand towards. Now, on to phase two…_

_"It's been a pleasure chatting with you, but you must wait until Tuesday, I'm afraid. For now, au revoir." Amelia spread out her arms and, inhaling deeply, fell backwards into the void._

_Far away, she heard a resentful voice vow, "It's not over yet."_

_Indeed, it wasn't, for she crash landed yet again on a hard surface for flooring. What differed from the clinically smooth surface of the platform she'd just been on was that it felt more like linoleum. Slightly disoriented from the fall, she placed herself in a sitting position and put her hands on either side of her head._

_Then, she heard a male teenager's voice. "Let's go in here, Amy."_

_Amy…No, no, it was another Amy with a different last name. Not her. She hadn't been called that in years, partially due to her insistence for everyone to call her by her full name._

_"OK," a familiar voice agreed._

_What?_

_In a second, Amelia lifted her head, eyes sharpened and alert. Inevitably, her jaw dropped open at the image of her sixteen-year-old self trailing after a lanky red-haired boy. And the memories rushed back. And she knew what would happen next._

_"Don't go in there with him, Amy!" she screamed at a nearly ear-piercing pitch as she tried placing herself between the ajar classroom door and the two teenagers._

_Unfortunately, she was invisible to them as they passed right by her. The boy closed the door behind him, leaving the adult Amelia out in the hall. She looked up it and down it to see if there was a soul around. It was lunch break: teens off campus, teachers smoking and sipping coffee in the lounge._

_So, was this the setting then? No one around to…_

_Amy screamed._

_"NO! AMY, GET OUT OF THERE! AMY!"_

_Desperately, Amelia beat at the door and, of course, tested the handle that ended up not budging. She couldn't do anything about it, apparently a ghost in this world. In 2000 Gotham High…_

_"I don't believe it," that abominable man spoke from behind her, his tone flat, not giving away much in the way of inner thoughts._

_She full-out shook, not caring if Crane noticed now. More furious than anything presently, she slowly turned to face him._

_"What?"_

_Pale blue eyes stared at her somewhat condescendingly. "How dim-witted you were back then."_

_"You son of a bitch!"_

_Amelia flew at him, more than ready to attack…_

_…But, he disappeared, vanished without a trace. That coward. She would get revenge on him, there would be no mistaking that. Heat coursed through her veins, untapped like molten lava. An explosion, just beneath the surface…_

_Two rough hands grabbed her from behind, pulling her to a rock solid chest._

_"Amy, I've been waiting eleven years for this…Do you want it now? Have you changed your mind? I got all you want and more than you'll ever want right insi—"_

_"NOOOOOOOO!"_

Amelia woke up instantly in a violently cold sweat. She sat up so suddenly and so rigidly that she scared Persephone off. The calico leapt off the bed and ran toward the living area. Better that way anyway.

Not even the cat deserved to witness this soon-to-be massive breakdown. While she panted, kept telling herself it was only a dream (dreams can never hurt you), she trembled. It started with her shoulders and proceeded to overwhelm her body.

Ironically enough, she'd spent six months in intensive therapy and counseling to permanently make that excruciating memory fade from her mind. And yes, her mother had even suggested hypnosis, which she'd eagerly gone by. That form of treatment had worked for eleven years. So effective was it that Amelia had forgotten his name.

Yet, there it was in the peripherals: Cody Hill.

That bastard…The one who ended up owning an entire baseball team in the city. The one with a gorgeous socialite for a wife but no children to speak of. Pfft, irony. It ruled her life.

She could no longer remain calm. For, she reached a startling conclusion that made logical sense.

The spray wasn't cocaine or anthrax. Its purpose was to partially alter the mind but mostly the portion of it that was in the dream world.

Why else would Crane have been able to intrude in her sleep?

Out of anger, sadness, and (much to her chagrin) fear, Amelia let out an anguished scream. And then outright sobbed.

* * *

**A/N: Yeah, this chapter was intense. I wanted to use that dream world used in Arkham Asylum before I put in that twist. I admit that my fave line here is the "fallen angel" one. It looks like something Anne Rice could have written, that's why I was so pleased with it. I haven't outright said in the story what Amelia's trauma was, but it will be mentioned again. And Crane is going to feel her wrath...Oops, did I just say that? XD Well, that much is obvious in this chapter that it isn't really a spoiler. Just that obviously, a really bad dream would disturb someone.**


	9. Session 7: Interrogation

**A/N: **Finally, an update! Oh, and as for the movie? Well, not as great as The Dark Knight (but considering The Dark Knight's epicness, that's not saying a lot), but it was amazing. I'm not going to reveal any spoilers. Just go see it yourselves. It's an experience. XD Oh, and there was something in the movie I hoped to see, it was there, and I was very, very happy. I won't be specific, because there was a number of things I wanted to see. It's just like thanks, Nolan. XD

* * *

**Chapter 8: Session 7: Interrogation**

Much to her personal frustration, Amelia spent that weekend recovering from both the spray and the nightmare. It was quite a traumatizing thing that Crane had brought up through his worst attack on her yet.

However, she would be damned if she walked into that session on Tuesday with residual nervous tics. He would laugh at her out of sheer enjoyment to finally see her weakened. She would absolutely not allow him the satisfaction.

But…This was tough to get over at the same time. That weekend, she found herself slumped on her couch, her hair straggly and not in the best condition. Watching movies and, inevitably, eating ice cream. What a coping mechanism. Again, she was thankful that Crane would be unable to witness her at her most vulnerable.

Naturally, she went into session seven with much fury.

Once she got the date out of the way in her tape recording, she continued, "I know Crane will be pleased that he thought he beat me in his twisted scheme. I admit that…that he almost did. For, I believe he had something to do with my getting sprayed and my ensuing nightmare. Ninety-eight percent sure, in fact. I will discuss this with him today. He may have won the battle, but he will not win the war. I guarantee it."

Right on time, Chris and Andy ushered Crane in, with the ex-doctor smirking in malicious delight. His light eyes shone.

He expected something, possibly results of another experiment? To observe that his hypothesis had succeeded?

Amelia smiled to herself contemplatively, settling down comfortably in her seat. "Mr. Crane, I'll start off today with—"

"Did you have any nervous feelings over your weekend, Doctor? A sense of paranoia?"

"Mm, now why would you ask me that? Kindly humor me as to why you're cross-examining me yet again, former doctor."

She wondered if behind the mask that his eye twitched, for she had an inkling that he was not too pleased with her. With each passing session, she had actually written down less notes. There was no need for them currently, especially in this study, when she firmly trusted in her intuition.

The reason why he'd asked her those questions just now, for instance, was clearly the power struggle between him and her that he himself set in motion on day one. To prove that, though he'd been in Arkham as a patient/prisoner, more than once, he was not to be trifled with. He had been the most esteemed, most vastly intelligent doctor working in this place. He sought out this power again.

"Don't play dumb with me, Dr. Harland," Crane said evenly, quite suddenly, as though this came out of his subconscious. "Surely, you remember how you felt on Thursday. I sensed it."

That was it. Amelia couldn't help but roll her eyes. "You sensed it. Somehow, Mr. Crane, I find that hard to believe."

"You doubt my presumption then?" She could imagine his raised eyebrow. "I was a psychiatrist, delving into my patients' minds, extracting information from them solely based on their words…Something you do now, though you are quite the novice, I must say. It blatantly shows itself to me."

Amelia gripped the edge of her clipboard, trying to contain her rising temper. Today, he would confess what he did. He wasn't leaving this room until she got answers.

"We're going to do something a little unorthodox today," she told him, leaning forward, her voice ice-cold. "You can tell me what happened to me last Thursday and why it did happen to begin with."

Snorting condescendingly, Crane lifted his head upward. "I haven't the slightest idea of what you're talking about. What nonsense is this? If you think I know what allegedly 'happened' to you on that day—"

"Oh, but I think you do, Mr. Crane." She aggressively tapped her pencil against the clipboard, stonily glaring at him. "You were the mastermind. Indirectly because of you, I'm assuming, an intruder walked into my office and proceeded to spray the area with a mysterious white-ish substance. It couldn't have been you…but you can surely fill in the blanks."

A heated silence ensued while the two rivals merely stared at each other. The only thing Amelia could hear was the ticking of the clock on the back wall. Tick-tock, tick-tock, oddly enough, a haunting melody. Anything that happened with Crane around seemed to be ten times worse, even an ordinary, everyday sound.

Then, Crane's lips just barely quirked upwards and quickly transformed into his most victorious smirk yet. "Well done, Doctor. If I'd wasted so much effort on the others who've previously chatted with me—well, they would have called the police"—he proceeded to mock the emotion of distress—"Oh help, help, police! Some bad man just broke in and sprayed mace on me. Or whatever it was. Could you please investigate the entire asylum?"

"That'll do," she slightly raised her voice, perturbed by what little regard he held for humanity.

"Regardless of that dramatization, I never bothered to go that far with these so-called psychiatrists. They were quite dull compared to my superior intellect. I could frighten them out of their wits within a few short days. _You_, on the other hand, are quite a different story…"

Amelia lifted her hand. "I don't need your prologue, Crane. I want to know how you did it. I'm sure you would love to tell me in graphic detail."

The real intention behind why she practically demanded him to cut to the chase was that he acted like he wove a story. He originally planned on taking his time (using up the forty-five minutes, in other words) in telling it, she surmised, just so he could brag about this. Despite her placid demeanor today, he thought this was a façade.

However, she really was in control of herself, whether he accepted it or not.

In the meantime, Crane pursed his lips, sighing too melodramatically. "Oh, very well. You are probably already aware of how difficult you are…"

"I am," she acknowledged, fighting the impulse to gloatingly smile.

So he was running out of strategies then, eh? He relented rather easily.

Then again, she soon discovered why he agreed to it once he slightly leaned back in his chair and smirked complacently. Too complacently.

"This was quite a detailed plan as well," he commented, speaking as though this was his great accomplishment. "Before I had the pleasure of being invited back to Arkham"—he pointedly ignored Amelia's soft, derisive snort—"I was working with Narrows residents, as you know."

"Is that what you call them?" Amelia surprised herself with voicing her thoughts in that flat tone.

She wasn't feeling particularly professional at the moment, what with how sardonic she was to Crane. Yet, she couldn't help it due to her simmering anger. This was the man who managed to intrude her sleep, breaking into it like a common thief.

His sneer widened with just the slightest hint of teeth. "You would call them drug dealers. But, I choose to be more polite. Never mind…As I was saying, I cut deals with them or really, indirectly, their leaders. Obviously, when you're cutting deals, you tend to make connections. I happened to have many."

_Of course he did, _Amelia scoffed, _he was quite a popular man before the snitch._

Indeed, a regular social butterfly but instead of taking nectar, he was giving out toxin from "flower" to "flower" in the hopes that a new kind of pollination would begin. Fear ruling everything in Gotham, the goal that Crane insisted on reaching. There would be no personal cost involved for him, as he'd already alienated everyone in his life.

Now that she mused over it more deeply, she realized this was the only thing he had left. Did she feel sorry for him? Hmph, not hardly, didn't he do this to himself anyway?

In order not to delay the interrogation any more, she coolly agreed. "Naturally, particularly in your case, when it seems everyone wishes to see Gotham in shambles."

"Hmph, indeed"—his incessantly clicking syringes threatened to both distract and annoy her—"So, with one of my connections, I discussed the possibility of my being placed back in Arkham. I'm not an idiot, Dr. Harland, and to be quite honest, I would be the last person you would ever call that."

Crane paused for breath briefly before continuing, "Keep that in mind. I told my hired hand this too along with a suggestion. I told him that he ought to consider a job as Arkham security guard. Everyone knows how pathetic their alleged security is. And besides if I so happened to be thrown in there…"

"You would have an inside man." Amelia sighed, not liking where this was going at all. How come she never thought to suspect…?

"Good girl," he told her condescendingly, as though she told him that she knew exactly how to spell "cat." "You're starting to know me on an intimate level."

"I could care less. What did your man do?"

"Straight to business type, aren't you?" He looked down at her, his eyes appearing to show how bored he was quickly becoming with her and her determination to wheedle answers out of him. "I see…Well, this man served as my eyes and ears of the place, looking out for any new inmates. He'd made a show of quitting the drug—or, rather, the toxin—business. Of course, those Arkham imbeciles hired him without so much as a background check on the man. Then again, they're desperate to hire anybody, what with how often their people come and go. Surely, you know that state of affairs."

Did she ever…Just last week, a doctor had gone out of his way to make sure he got transferred to Gotham Hospital. Amelia didn't know why, but she only knew that no employee expressed the desire to work here long. No thanks to criminals like Crane, undoubtedly. With her, on the other hand, she merely sought out a prized promotion.

"Yes…Get to the point, Crane."

He gave her a deadpan look, she could sense it by the way his eyes reflected further ennui. "Understand I go at my own pace. I decided I'm not about to cater to you. Do not interrupt me again."

"Yes, sir," she muttered sarcastically under her breath.

"Now…Where was I? Oh, yes…He would contact me and inform me of everything he could. Inmates and doctors alike, what they were up to, and so on—really, mostly what he heard while on duty. He'd patrol the halls. And that is how I first heard about you, Doctor."

What? This was news to her. However, she'd grudgingly promised not to—oh, who was she kidding? Crane knew how to play up her curiosity too well.

"And what did he tell you?"

"How you would speak with patients, treat them, and have them released in a matter of weeks. You're considered 'gifted', apparently. I have yet to see it."

"That's because you're not clamoring to be treated. You don't have the need. You're just a criminal." Amelia glared at him, gradually getting more and more irritated by the minute. When was he going to confess?

"Or your ability is lacking. Hm, hard to determine which is more accurate. By the time I was put in an Arkham cell again, I had a feeling I would end up having you as my sympathetic, kind doctor. I'm too difficult for anybody else here to tackle. They haven't the wits. By that time, my man was working the night shift, and guess whose cell he carefully guarded during those hours."

She internally cursed herself for underestimating Crane in that respect. Of course he would implant an ally within enemy territory. Sure, the other rogue criminals had the intelligence to do that as well, but they never planned on staying apprehended long anyway. Crane did, so as to come up with a plot to cripple her, mainly her mind. He was far too smart for his own good.

"So, how the hell did I get sprayed on Thursday? And answer fast, Crane, or I might just order that you get 30 ccs of anesthetic to sedate you," she threatened lowly in a manner that she hadn't dared to speak in before.

He responded slyly, "Oh, that's intimidating if you assume I don't turn it against you. All right, all right, I have finally reached this portion of the story. I had had success in concocting a toxin that, once inhaled, would drift up to the hippocampus in the medial temporal lobe of your brain, which is where your memories and—of course—your dreams are stored. And have this toxin interfere with them while you sleep, not only to cause you anxiety while you're awake. I had plenty of packets in storage in a vacated warehouse by the docks. I simply told my man the location and to find a Dr. Harland's office the following morning. I'd stored many things in there, spray cans being some of those items. He knew what to do. He's the smartest out of these other morons, I'll say that. That's why I chose him specifically."

There was too much to take in all at once, and Amelia found herself dependently leaning back against her chair, disbelieving. Yet, this was all adding up. It proved her hunch right. He _was _the mastermind behind this, and he'd cleverly dispatched someone else to do the dirty work for him.

Therefore, he could somehow infiltrate her dreams and gain access to the fears she had concealed from almost everyone around her.

"Did you learn anything?" she inquired, her voice rising in volume just slightly. "Did you take satisfaction in giving me nightmares?"

"Immense satisfaction…" Crane trailed off in a sadistically content tone before his upper lip curled in a snarl. "Until you came in here this morning, in perfect health and relatively perfect sanity. How are you not twitching? Or fearful of me, now that I know the memory that gave you the most trauma. In fact…You should be under the side effects still. What. Happened?"

Suddenly, he slammed his fist on the cushion of his chair, practically raging now. His eyes burned through his mask, two angry pools of light.

Amelia smiled from his perturbed behavior, glad to see that this had obviously not been factored into his plans. "Did you think I would be stupid enough to breathe in those fumes, Crane? You might have put a great deal of planning into this, but it was rather sloppy on your part. I vacated my office quickly. A janitor ended up spraying a lot of Febreeze in there, turned out, to cancel out the scent of the toxin. It actually worked, though you weren't expecting long-term results, were you?"

"And you put up much resistance in the dream I created for you as well…," Crane murmured, no longer outwardly wrathful but mildly irked. "I should have known. What little you did inhale, you fought off. I'd expected shock to numb you at the time you were sprayed."

"And let myself be overtaken by the toxin." She shook her head, her smile fading. "I have anticipated an attack from you for quite some time, Crane. I just never thought—or, I mean, considered—that you would have an accomplice. I thought you worked alone."

"I do. I couldn't exactly incriminate myself, you realize," he retorted a bit impatiently.

"But, you had what you wanted. My fear." Amelia wrinkled her nose, patronizing to him as always. "You bastard. You sick, sick bastard. How dare you break into my mind like that? You had no right to do that! All you do is take advantage of people in vile ways that, frankly, no other criminal has done, not even the Joker! You are a deplorable excuse for a man."

"Go on," he said slowly, languidly, as he eased back in his chair.

She sprang to her feet, stood over his chair as she'd done before, and pointed toward the door. "I won't even give you the privilege. Out of the room, Crane! Now!"

Crane stretched out his arms as though he had enjoyed a long, relaxing nap and very slowly rose to his feet. That irrepressible smirk still lingered on his lips as he walked away. Amelia then recalled that she had to ask him something and called him back. He obliged, head cocked to the side as if he wanted to hang on her every word.

"Why would you go so far with me? Why even bother?"

"That's your question?" Crane scoffed, proceeding to walk away from her.

And she was positive that he wouldn't answer until he stopped and idly said over his shoulder, "Because you pose a serious threat to me now, Doctor, more of one than I'd considered. I won't pretend otherwise."

And he left her at that, with her bewildered that he had just willingly admitted this to her. This was either entirely foolish on his part for answering or hers for asking the question in the first place.

* * *

**A/N: **I know the Febreeze thing was crap, but that toxin had to get out of Amelia's office at some point. Why not spray it away with something else? I had Amelia not experience after effects of being sprayed so much partially because she was fighting it off in the dream and partially that she was smart enough not to breathe it in, obviously. And things between them are getting near-animostic. Oh, that's right, waaaay past that now.

I'm also aware that this chapter was like 90% dialogue. It won't be like that so much next time.

BTW, very impressed with how much viewership's gone up. I hit 1200 as a grand total a few days ago. Not in one day just all together. Still, I can't believe how popular this story has suddenly gotten. Very much appreciated, you guys.


	10. Session 8: Theories on Fear

**A/N: **OK, so after today, I'm off for a couple days for some activity thing going on at my college. Which means no computer and no TV over there. I think I might go into withdrawal. I'll sneak the iPod into my packing and hope they don't confiscate it. They probably won't. Anyway, yeah, I about have to update today. Luckily, this is the colossal chapter I was telling you guys about. And not just in length either.

* * *

**Chapter 9: Session 8: Theories on Fear**

On the way home, Amelia stopped at the grocery store due to her shortage on milk and, really, food in general. She had behaved like a regular slob over the weekend all because of some horrific memory. Some trigger to revert back to the depressed teenager she had been, which was unlike her and what she found inexcusable.

Partially, she went to the grocery store not just out of necessity but to seek refuge in someplace other than home. This must have been a trait she had inherited from her mother, who had automatically gone shopping when Grandpa Kent died.

That was Mom's grieving process. In Amelia's case, she just needed to do something mundane to forget about her case for a little while. She'd do anything now.

Operating on what seemed like auto-pilot, she headed to the dairy aisle to pick up milk when she recognized a certain someone.

Mark Young looked to be contemplating what kind of cheese to boy and in what form (shredded, cubed, sliced, etc.). He also appeared to be lost in thought, much like her.

Amelia wanted to talk to him then, a sudden impulse urging her that she should. To make amends with him over her inept behavior from that last date…

She even regretted afterwards, when she had acted like an immature fifteen-year-old on the drive home, cursing and blaming him instead of herself.

Absentmindedly, she greatly placed two full gallons in the cart, trying fruitlessly not to stare. He was her ex-boyfriend, after all. Yet, she chanced a glimpse at him that turned into a gaze.

Undeniably, Mark was handsome, and yet she hadn't experienced enough chemistry with him. And frustrated, Amelia wondered why. His dark hair was in an organized mess as always, rumpled and wavy. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows in that unkempt style he preferred. He looked more blue-collar in comparison to a typical lawyer.

She barely smiled at the idea and was a few seconds shy of saying hi to him…

…When a rather voluptuous woman came out of the adjacent snack foods aisle pushing a cart filled with fruits, vegetables, some canned goods, and (from what she could see) Wheat Thins. Apparently, Wheat Thins were better than Chips Ahoy for a post-dinnertime snack, Amelia inwardly scoffed. At the same time, instincts coerced her into staying put out of curiosity.

Who was this woman?

She soon found out when the curvy, raven-haired woman in question stopped a foot away from Mark. Turning toward her, he smiled amiably as he dropped a chunk of Swiss cheese in her cart, and they proceeded to engage in conversation. The woman spoke in a lovely Spanish accent.

Her face impassive, uncertain as to how to think or feel in this scenario, Amelia steered her cart away and escaped the dairy aisle. So, this was how she had been treated? Brushed aside in favor of helping a ridiculously gorgeous woman with her grocery shopping? Not to mention that this Spanish model (for all she knew) made her painfully aware of her more understated curves and twiggy legs. Now that she considered it, as she relentlessly pushed her cart toward the produce section, she was furious with Mark all over again. Like a typical man, he wound up being shallow in his taste in women.

And helping her with the everyday task of groceries? Ha, that was quite chivalrous of him. Wheat Thins…She never liked the damn things that much, personally.

What did it matter? Mark had dumped her, not as amicably as she would have liked but…They'd hardly known each other too well, so it wasn't like it was a great loss, just a massive blow to her ego.

Maybe Cate had a point. Perhaps men simply didn't express the desire to be with career women like her. Well, Amelia needed to pore over her Crane notes tonight, regardless.

So what if Mark Young had expressed no intent of falling in love with her? It wouldn't be the first time that this occurred. Ah, she didn't care in the slightest. Her career came first. She believed she really had something on Crane now, a legitimate assumption as to why he did what he did. She would present this to him tomorrow.

And she would have him cornered, at a loss for words.

* * *

Another Thursday session, another face-to-face encounter with Crane, but Amelia wasn't deterred by him and his constant attempts to make her uncomfortable. She had so much boldness that she would see this case through to the end, whichever form that took. Besides this relentless drive, she'd finally discovered an epiphany of an idea that might lead to the potential breakthrough. Once that got hammered into his head, he would possibly reform. Possibly…Or he would kill her.

She never found out just how much of a gambler she was until today when she was willing to lay all her cards on the table.

He hadn't been "dropped off" yet by the time she arrived, which she was pleased over. Preferably, Amelia hadn't wanted Crane around each time she taped an introduction to each session, worried that he would interrupt or, worse, listen attentively. And then use her ideas against her. At this stage in the game, she was well aware that Crane was extremely intelligent, highly capable of breaking her if he chose.

"It's early April now, and I've barely made a dent," she confessed to the old-fashioned tape recorder. "I ought to have at least known about his childhood by now and why fear is such a turn-on for him. I suppose he's too smart to reveal much about his personal life. He knows how this works here—he has been in my position too many times. I won't give up. That breakthrough may be today, and I just don't know it yet."

"Breakthrough? What breakthrough?"

A snide voice taunted her, causing Amelia to stop excessively running her hands through her hair and to stare directly at Crane. The two usual guards were just about to close the door on them.

So, he'd overheard…Luckily, if what he parroted to her was any indicator, Crane had only caught the tail end of her reflections. Good. If he'd eavesdropped on even a few more words, he would have used that as a tactic. And he would have persisted in, once again, discussing herself rather than his issues.

"It doesn't concern you, Mr. Crane," she addressed him frostily, her words like ice shards. "Perhaps when you decide to cooperate, it will. Until then, take a seat."

"Care to offer me any drinks?" Crane cracked a joke, but coming from him, it sounded dark and at her expense.

Amelia disregarded this. "I'm willing to let yesterday's confession of yours slide. My job is to try improving you mentally and emotionally if necessary. And no trick that you're going to pull is about to stand in my way. Is that clear?"

He must have had his eyebrows raised in a gesture of mock innocence, though his fiddling around with the needles betrayed it. "Amazing, how committed you are to your career, Doctor. That kind of dedication is very moving. But…I wonder when you're going to _snap _from all the pres—"

"Please. No more games," she cut in half-wearily but half-firmly, knowing that she had to force him to behave. If it implied talking to him like he was a dog, then so be it. She was getting fed-up with him.

"Hm, but they're so much fun," he responded dryly, examining his syringe glove fondly. "How else to usurp your mind so that it's no longer yours?"

"Oh, clever. No, Crane, today I'm going a bit more unorthodox. Let's talk about fear."

Crane straightened up as much as he could on the leather lounge chair, lifting his hands dramatically in feigned surprise. "Well, I suppose I won't have to take over your mind after all, considering you're finally talking my language."

Amelia smiled humorlessly, amused that he would believe that she would ever pass off his ideology as her own. "That's not exactly what I meant, Crane. I still believe that what you did was wrong. No, I say that we discuss our theories on fear. I am confident that they contrast."

"Fear in theory?" Crane snorted cynically and shook his head. "I can't believe you've conceived this idiotic notion. This isn't a college lecture from my psychology professor. Quite moronic of you."

"I mentioned 30 ccs of anesthetic on Tuesday. That offer still stands."

"I'll decline, thank you. Now, what were you saying?" He pretended to be half-interested.

This was psychiatrist gold that she gradually approached. Amelia sensed that she could go in for the kill at any minute. Bringing up the very subject of fear was sure to get his pulse racing, excitement growing. He would spit out self-revealing words before he realized what he did.

"It's more of a debate about fear, actually, something I learned in one of _my _psychology classes." Amelia suppressed her eager smile so she wouldn't seem too anxious for what she'd been calling in her notes "the breakthrough." "Of course, it was a long time ago, but it's whether fear is something we are born with or something we learn over time."

Their theories had to be different. Otherwise, this would defeat the purpose of the exercise.

"Well…We're born with it, of course. All of nature's creatures are. It is part of our genetic make-up, as far as I'm concerned."

_Wrong answer, _Amelia thought near-victoriously, _I knew he'd say that._

But, part of the genetic make-up, DNA, the thing that made them human beings? That was ludicrous.

Then, she remembered that the man sitting in front of her was the same one who had brazenly sprayed city hall and laughed about it. Ludicrous didn't begin to cover him.

"Our genetic make-up?" she echoed doubtfully, shaking her head to reflect that. "I wouldn't go that far. Besides, personally, I believe fear is what we find out over time. If we go through certain traumas throughout our life, certain circumstances that shake us up, we develop these particular fears."

His eyes studied her, as though sifting through her words to discover their meaning, even though what she said was fairly self-explanatory.

Funny, was he really listening to her? Well, if she did say so herself, she had put up a fairly strong rebuttal. However…

Crane laughed unpleasantly. "Is that what you think?"

"And is _that_ how you prefer to win your arguments?" Amelia asked in retaliation. "By attempting to rip your opponent apart through your arrogance? Not too wise, Crane. A more worldly man would know what to say immediately to defend his stance…not waste time laughing at the opponent."

"Oh, please, Doctor. You've already made me feel like I'm back in psychology class. Don't turn this into a college public speaking course as well. I'm no student of yours."

Was he kidding? Every opening he saw to ostracize her and her opinions, he took full advantage of in an attempt to make her look inferior to him. She formed a steeple with her fingers, hiding her pursed lips and her overall grim expression.

"Let the records show that you obviously think my point is BS, that anything that goes against you is invalid to you," she coldly told him.

Picking at her fingernails, she temporarily pretended that Crane wasn't even there. If he wasn't there, she would have a better hold on her patience and be less likely to scream at him.

This moment was brief before Amelia cleared her throat and entreated courteously, "So, Crane, why do you think we're born with our fears? Enlighten me. We have plenty of time."

Too much time. She swore that twenty minutes had gone by when, in reality, it had only been half that. However, she wouldn't whine, wouldn't complain about this, as much as she wanted to.

She observed that Crane rolled his eyes ever so slightly, their stare drifting up to the ceiling. "I would think you would know why, Doctor. You're the professional at work here."

"Well, since I happen to disagree with you, I want to hear your side. I don't know what you're thinking."

"Imagine that," he said, his boredom quite blatant. "Nonetheless, if you really wish to know my perspective—"

"I do."

"I'm sure it will rivet you." The sarcastic deadpan proved to be at his most vitriolic yet. "Hmm…Very well, if you're avid enough to listen to my views, I suppose I'll oblige.

"We're all born here with fear, every one of us. Why else do babies cry when they're first born?"

Oh for God's sakes…Amelia could readily counter that. "To breathe, I always assumed. They're finally out in the real world instead of stuck in the womb."

"Wrong. They're afraid. It's all new and strange to them. They see a doctor hovering near them, medical supplies, not to mention they're caked in—"

"To each their own," she interrupted, reviled by his description and that a baby's first cries resulted from fear. And she thought that that older interview tape in which the Riddler had cracked his infamous baby joke was bad. Crane's theory stemmed from a disturbed mind. And much like Penny Young…Well, she walked right into that one.

"Regardless, fear is instilled within us from the minute we're brought into the world. Even if we don't display it young—according to your unfounded theory—it's an instinct. When we see or experience something that perturbs us, it would be classified as a trigger for that instinct to come alive. All you need to do is push the right buttons (for, every person's set of fears is different, like snowflakes with no two sets being exact), and then fear in its purest form reveals itself. It takes hold of the person, forcing them to lose their wits."

Drawn to his rebuttal, Amelia found herself impressed and awed that he'd presented it so articulately…But, she could not agree with his point. On the contrary, she was disgusted with his "fear is an instinct" theory, the idea that it hid inside you until a given situation summoned it to the surface.

And then after that, you were too powerless to fight it off because you wouldn't have a conscious thought. She hated his comeback…perhaps because there was some substance to it? A degree of logic along with the madness?

Shrugging it off, she proceeded to tear this reasoned argument apart. "You're talking about fear in general. That's too vague and, honestly, you're not being specific enough that way. Are we exposed to spiders when we're born? I'd think not. Some of us learn we don't like them later on. And what about, for example, the fear of God? That's learned with those of us who happen to be raised in devoutly religious families."

That seemed to leave a bad taste in Crane's mouth. Carefully observing his reactions to what she said, she saw his eyes narrow. As for the emotion in them, she swore she could detect cold hatred. As blue as they were, they looked like hardened chunks of ice.

"What religion do you believe in, Doctor?" he asked abruptly after a couple minutes' reticent silence.

"Interested in people's religious views," Amelia wrote very slowly, not quite registering that he would be so bold as to ask that question. Indeed, she was positively baffled…What would move him to make that inquiry now? She'd only used the fear of God as an example.

Unless…

She tapped the eraser end of her pencil near her lips. "Why do you want to know?"

"Confidentiality would constitute a special relationship, wouldn't it?" She did not trust that jeering smile behind the mask.

"In a sense…"

"Then, admit it to me."

Amelia shrugged again. "If you must know, I'm agnostic."

"So, you're not afraid of going to hell?"

She started to come up with one conclusion regarding the real Jonathan Crane, the man behind the Scarecrow façade. He was either intensely religious, possessing a deep-seated faith, or he rejected all religion in general. Not that his beliefs in theological pursuits were all that relevant to the case…or were they?

"No, and Crane, you have been trying to get me to admit to my fears for weeks. Drop it. You see me currently as your perfectly sane psychiatrist."

"For now…But, how about I theorize that you're terrified of men?"

Amelia dismissed frigidly, "Preposterous. If so, I would be panicking at the sight of you every day. Quite frankly, you don't intimidate me."

"Hmph. Commitment then. My man told me he didn't find any pictures of a boyfriend in your office. Just your parents…and your pet cat."

Crane practically spat out the word "cat" as if he thought that her having only a pet around for company was a pathetic concept. Well, in her opinion, having a cat was better than having nothing, which was what he had at the moment.

Not a pet or family or a significant other but an obsession that he wanted (in his head, _needed_), fulfilled, a dream—no, nightmare—realized.

She frowned. "At least I have my parents and the cat. Oh, and also a close friend, as much as that might surprise you. And older friends from high school. I have a feeling you can't grasp the concept of having any of these key people in your life, Crane. Did you ever have them in your life? Do you have them even now?"

Her retort served as a low blow, way below his belt. But, she was done with sympathy, finished with empathy. A man like him stranded in deluded fantasies required to be brought back down to reality. To be normal…to be sane…

"Shut up, you insolent woman. You don't know what you're talking about," he mildly snapped, though she'd witnessed him angrier. "You wouldn't know. It's failure, isn't it? Failure is one of your biggest fears, particularly with your precious career. If these people are so valuable to you, then why is work your first priority? And you're worried you'll fail this case.

"And _Miss_ Harland, you're doing a fine job of it so far. You have made hardly any progress with me. No breakthrough, no epiphany—nothing"—Crane stood up, pointing at her—"You've been faltering this whole time. This certainly isn't your career best."

Amelia shook her head, indicating that she was in a "that's it" sort of mood, and properly rose to her feet as well. "I actually do have an epiphany, Crane! It's just occurred to me. I can already make one conclusion that's been in the back of my mind since I first researched you, not through sensationalist newspaper articles but your Arkham file."

She played with fire, as this man had a 189 IQ approximately, and he could physically overpower her. Nonetheless, she felt taller than the tallest sequoia presently because she had the trump card. It would be in her daring behavior to stand up to the man who saw all people as puppets. Their fear was the strings. And as master, he leered over them in his disdainful fashion.

Time to knock him off his high horse.

Stepping toward him deliberately, she spat, "And the sessions haven't changed my mind. Not one bit. Your damning evidence proves that you are the vilest, sickest man I (or, really, anyone) have ever met. The way you lust after fear…You can't be cured! You're a miserable son of a bitch who is very much alone, and I can definitely see—"

Unluckily, she couldn't finish that sentence, for Crane roughly grabbed her shoulders, pinning her to the nearest wall. In the process, poor Amelia got the breath knocked out of her. Somewhat disoriented from being smacked against the wall, she still managed to have frenzied questions or at least one.

Did…Did he just use physical force on her?

In disbelief, she saw Crane's eyes, and they were more wrathful than she'd ever seen them. That included her "fear of God" comment. They bored into her, merciless.

"Have I frightened you now, Doctor?" he inquired, his voice poisonous in its condescending tone. "This is your fear, isn't it? Being trapped by a man?"

"G-Get off me." Much to her humiliation, she weakly stuttered.

"No, I don't think I will. I want to enjoy this." He pressed his body closer to hers, so close that she could sense that this aroused him.

"Doctor, Doctor, Doctor…," he whispered in her ear while she found herself quite immobilized. "I smell your fear. Ahhh…I haven't made anyone so petrified in so long…I like this."

_Well, I don't! _she screamed in her mind, tired of being the one that this had to happen to. Sickened by Crane's fear addiction.

And the closeness…The legitimate claustrophobia she'd had after that high school incident. Who knew what Crane could…?

No, never again, no!

"GET THE FUCK OFF ME!" Amelia screamed aloud but not out of terror but unadulterated rage. She rarely cursed this severely, but she supposed she could make an exception.

And, in another exception, she also kicked him in the groin.

She made sure the heel of her shoe would make his crotch highly uncomfortable. It did the trick. He hissed, cursing in pain as he drew back from her.

"Guards!" she barked and, right on cue, they barged right in.

They must have heard her screaming at him, for they seized Crane by the arms that they held on to very tightly. She imagined that his face turned puce by now if it wasn't already.

"Throw him in solitary," Amelia directed to Andy and Chris but held her gaze to Crane's mutinous one, keeping that eye contact. "And just to be safe, I would confiscate his syringe glove. Which you should have done to begin with."

Just as they hauled him off, she spoke up, "One more thing, and Crane, this is for you so you better listen. You will be visiting me on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays now until further notice. You will also be sedated once you're placed in solitary. Is. That. Clear?"

"Whatever you say, Doctor," he mocked.

"Get this piece of scum out of my sight."

Andy and Chris obliged, leaving her alone in the room. She suddenly had to fight back tears. It was a number of reasons but mostly….mostly because Crane had inadvertently dug the memory right back up again. Of course. What would her life be without those memories?

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I know the f-word, but honestly, can you blame her? Oh, and this isn't overly important but in this chapter, for some reason, I pictured Mark having the hairstyle of the movie Crane. No idea why, just kind of pictured him like that. So, kind of a cameo? And also I pictured the Spanish woman to look a lot like a Spanish version of Marion Cotillard, at least her look from Inception. Not French, Spanish oddly enough, this character. I think Gotham would be a lot like NYC with different ethnicities and people from different countries even.

Finally fixed the glove issue, too. I think I'd kept it in there because Scarecrow had worn it in Arkham Asylum the game. But, also, I have no clue. I blamed it on the ineptness of Arkham security when really, it was from the ineptness of the author. Sorry, guys. I guess I didn't quite know what he'd do if he'd ever made an escape attempt without a glove...Hm...

So, things are definitely heating up between Amelia and Crane. This will either result in the breakthrough or somebody getting killed or something. I don't know, you'll just have to read more.

Wow, almost 2,000 hits overall, I'm amazed. 0_0


	11. Starbucks

**A/N: **OK, another not-filler chapter. I won't call these fillers any more because the chapters between the therapy sessions shed light on Amelia's character. Character development in other words. Obviously, there was supposed to be an aftermath chapter after wild and crazy chapter nine anyway.

* * *

**Chapter 10: Starbucks**

That evening, Amelia crashed. She could not function properly due to Crane pushing the envelope in their sessions. What should have been a breakthrough earlier today was now oblivion. He had fed off her momentary panic, that brief lapse in her placid demeanor.

She didn't know what to do. How could she possibly salvage all that lost effort if he reverted to how he normally acted or, worse, only devolved from there?

At the same time, though, she had made progress, as much as Crane would loathe that. But, she'd noted how he had neurotically guessed at what her real fear was. Considering that he had stood behind her in her dream, she knew he could only assume what had happened behind that closed door. It was logical guesswork for him, but he still had to throw out guesses, didn't he?

Odd, how come she didn't feel relieved? She glanced down at her cellphone, contemplating weekend plans. All she had to do was dial a certain number…and yet, Amelia wondered if it was wise. Crane's "man" sure unveiled quite a bit of information about her to him. It was like the fake guard was a hired stalker. Unfortunately, one of the many things Crane did exceptionally well was that he didn't mention his man's name. So, she couldn't request that the head fire him.

She glared at the phone. She needed a getaway, even if it was across the street.

Pressing the buttons at lightning speed, she waited for…

"Hello?"

"Cate. I'm glad I could reach you," Amelia commented breezily, as though nothing was wrong. "How about Starbucks this Saturday at seven?"

As though nothing was wrong. Nothing spiraled out of control. She lived normally.

* * *

She put on a teal shirt that had pale green accents and a nice pair of jeans. It was just Starbucks, so it didn't hurt Amelia to look casual. She even left her blonde hair in its usual ponytail. With her slightly scuffed-up pair of purple Converse, she realized she'd made herself up like a teenager. Well, with her frame of mind currently, she needed to go back in time in that sense. Being an adult could be so overrated.

Persephone watched as her mistress tied up her other Converse shoe, lethargically settled on the couch, as though she expected a movie to play on the TV. However, that activity would have to wait until she returned.

"Bye, 'Sephone. Have fun without me."

Oh good gosh, her air of false cheerfulness now extended to the cat. But, he would never break her. No matter what he did, she wouldn't drop everything on his account.

When she made it to Starbucks, she saw that Cate actually hadn't shown up early. Until then, she ordered an Iced Cafe Latte to hold herself over. Hm, she pondered over why her friend wasn't there before she was. That was rarely the case. Then again, one could never underestimate the horror of Gotham traffic, especially on a Saturday night.

Amelia tapped her fingernails on the table, her irritating habit, while waiting and sipping. Sipping and waiting…She took to observing other people in the coffee place. Some customers came and went, drinking their coffee on the go, even though it was the weekend. Mark had to work a particular weekend once…

Hmph, Mark, and she hadn't even bothered to follow the Two-Face trial. The first hearing had made the Gotham Daily front page, but she hadn't wasted the $2.50 on the issue. Did Mark make a competent prosecutor?

Lawyer and lying sounded like the same word, slightly close in pronunciation. And Mark had made a fantastic liar. So did Crane. So did Cody Hill. So did all men.

Before she was aware of it, she gripped her styrofoam cup aggressively, as though that hand wrapped around one of the men's throat. She could not grasp her occasional misanthropy, attributing it only to her grim luck…more like a lack thereof. Hopefully, this girls' night would be the cure to her negative outlook on life—well, her dark cynicism at any rate.

"Amelia," Cate greeted from the entrance with someone behind her.

Glancing up from her cup of coffee, she was pleased to see her (two minutes' late) friend. As for the man (for, yes, that was the figure standing near Cate), she was not so sure. In fact, she knew that she'd planned the Starbucks visit for two girlfriends hanging out…not having a man around. The man would merely serve as a distraction.

With rather sharp eyes, Amelia appraised this stranger, somehow wary of him. Granted, it wasn't as though he was Cody Hill, though she hadn't seen that particular bit of slime since high school graduation and had no desire to. Romantic relationships had held no significance to her lately.

She smiled anyway in contradiction to her thoughts. "Hey, Cate."

Cate beamed as she strolled over toward the table with the strange man in tow. "I'd like you to meet somebody. I picked him up on the way here, so he wouldn't have to waste gas. He's the one I mentioned to you. Amelia, this is Lyle. Lyle, my friend Amelia."

He looked nice, she would grant him that, with richly dark blond hair and dark eyes that distinctly reminded her of Mark's. But, looks could always be deceiving.

She cracked another fake smile, turning the charm up to eleven. "Hi, pleased to meet you."

Lyle took her offered hand and shook it gently but firmly. "Cate has been telling me all about you. So…You work in Arkham Asylum, huh?"

"Don't worry. I haven't been driven to insanity yet."

He chuckled warmly at her shallow joke, and she soon joined in. Amelia was adept at feigning sincerity when she chose to.

This veiled some irritated feelings toward Cate that she suppressed. What made her best friend possibly think that she was ready to move on to another man after Mark? Really, what made her think that she would be interested in men in general? Indeed, Amelia planned on taking an extended break from dating.

She would be fair and diplomatic by at least giving Lyle a shot.

However, he shouldn't be anticipating a cell number from her tonight.

"Well, I'll leave you two to talk…since you seem to be hitting it off so well." Cate grinned, rummaging through her purse. "I'll just get some cappuccino."

"You do that," Amelia said wryly, her heart oddly sinking at the idea of sharing a conversation with Lyle. She wasn't sure if she was so eager to get acquainted with him.

He wasted no time in asking questions pertaining to her. "So, what's it like working up at the asylum? Do you come across any troublesome patients?"

Biting the inside of her cheek, she contemplated how exactly to respond to him, for she was reluctant to discuss her work. Not to mention yes, she had a difficult patient right now, one who wouldn't stop fighting her. One who was going to try everything in his power to make her virtually terrified of him as his ultimate act of vengeance.

Amelia sighed. As much as she would love to mention the entire unabridged list of Crane's faults and problems to this acquaintance, she recalled doctor-patient confidentiality. It was a code of conduct she had to abide by, otherwise risk getting fired from her job.

"Do you mean those celebrity criminals?" she asked sardonically, scoffing at how much media coverage the Joker and people like that received.

"Well…Yes, I suppose so."

She smirked yet smiled. "No. I've never gotten the pleasure to see any of them."

Part of her internally laughed. She couldn't believe she had outright lied to Lyle about this part of her job. Then again, it was none of his business.

"What do you do, Lyle?" she inquired, abruptly intrigued by what he would say.

He smiled. "I'm just a bank teller."

"Oh…Oh, how nice."

"Pays the bills." He shrugged. "I think I'll go get some coffee myself."

_Please do_, Amelia thought dully.

Much to her relief, he got up from his chair to order his drink while Cate returned.

"How do you like him?"

"He's…kind of boring, I won't lie," she admitted though didn't act overtly embarrassed over her true opinion. Actually, she felt a burden was lifted off her shoulders. Maybe this would mean he'd leave her alone and that Cate would help.

Instead, Cate sighed, clicking her tongue. "I was actually hoping you wouldn't say that about him. Did you at least give him a chance? Talked to him?"

"Oh, I talked to him." Amelia drained what was left of her latte. "Nearly fell asleep. Besides, Cate, you didn't have to bring him here."

"I thought that was what you wanted, though," Cate hissed to keep her voice down.

Amelia shook her head. "The last thing I wanted. I've sworn myself off men for at least a solid six months."

"Are you kidding? Don't you want to get settled?"

"I still have time," she murmured evenly to Cate. "For now, I just need a break. After Mark…You understand, don't you?"

"But, you weren't—"

"Serious? No but…" Amelia bit her lip, sensing that she was being put on the spot. Deep down in her soul, she knew there was more to this desire for a break than Mark alone. The root of the issue was her slight distrust toward all men. Not her father, grandfather, and uncles, no, not family…But pretty much every other man.

"Lyle is really sweet," Cate pressed, hoping to convert her to her viewpoint, no doubt. "Just talk to him more."

Amelia half-shrugged and said no more until Lyle came back with his Iced Café Mocha, settling himself in a chair between the two women. She looked wistfully toward a young writer on his laptop, typing away words. Was he planning on publishing an article for a magazine or newspaper? Updating his blog? Maybe getting ready to publish his debut novel…which would be impressive because he couldn't have been older than twenty-two.

"Amelia." A hand touched her shoulder.

She blinked, watching Lyle stare at her confusedly. "What?"

"He asked you what college you went to," Cate helpfully informed.

Of course. She half-wanted to roll her eyes at this. Any more brilliant questions he wished to come up with? It was almost as though he'd written them down ahead of time and memorized them word-for-word.

"Gotham University, naturally," she readily supplied. "I could have gone to Princeton if I'd wanted to or Vassar. I was head of my class and participated in a variety of extracurriculars like Spanish Club. But, I wanted to stay closer to home."

Was she sounding elitist? Probably…in a vindictive sort of way to hold her superior education over his head.

"I see. Well, I'd graduated from Catholic school but wasn't a big fan of college, so I went to a two-year to get my associate's. And…"

Rather arrogantly, Amelia tuned him out. How perpetually boring was Lyle? He could be comparable to Mr. Collins from _Pride and Prejudice_.

Did she have to know his life story on the…whatever this was for it most certainly wasn't a date.

She went to the bathroom, stayed there for fifteen minutes, and came out again to say goodbye. She refused to put up with this ennui a second longer.

Her face fell (seemingly) as she broke the news to Cate and Lyle. "I'm sorry to do this to you two, but I think I should be getting home, do some more research."

Cate raised an eyebrow. "Already?"

"I _swear _I'll make it up to you. Tomorrow night? Here?"

Amelia hoped that Cate took the hint because she couldn't exactly mouth "without him" with their guest right in her view.

Thankfully, Cate seemed to pick up on the implication, for she nodded her head in response. "OK. It's kind of weird to be at Starbucks on Saturday night anyway…But, in that case, how about tomorrow morning?"

"That'll work."

"All right." Cate smiled half-heartedly, which made Amelia wonder if she found Lyle insufferably dull, too. "See you, Amelia."

"Yeah, have a good one."

When she finally exited the shop, Amelia let out a somewhat loud, exasperated groan. Cate's intentions had been well-meant, sure. But, to meet someone as uninspiring as Lyle left her bitter, even resentful toward him and a little toward her close friend.

Was this the best she could do? Was this the best Cate assumed she could do? Most of what she had dated consisted of dependable, well-to-do men who could provide for themselves independently and keep down decently paying jobs. Well, that was all fine and dandy except that most of them lacked personality, a certain je ne sais quoi she caught herself searching for.

In conversations, they had (similarly to Lyle) carried on regarding bland topics as if they could do this for days on end. She couldn't deal with it.

As Amelia briskly walked across the street, she was discouraged in puzzling through her empty love life. She realized she needed an equal, someone who could speak in such a way that her mind would be stimulated. Someone who could also awaken her passion as well…Someone with light-colored eyes…

Wait, where had that come from?

It was a good thing that she'd made it to the other side of the street, for she managed to startle herself into a standstill.

No…She refused to even consider…But, why?

Shuddering horribly, repulsed by her thoughts of light-colored eyes that seemed to glow, reflect, refract. Amelia couldn't grapple her mind and its bizarre thoughts.

She couldn't…But, all of these boring men Henry, Tom, Mark, and for half an hour, Lyle were those she would never date again. Essentially, all she'd done was speed date for the past four years. How degrading was that?

Amelia sighed, not comprehending her misfortunate luck. She unlocked the door to her apartment and decided watching _Pride & Prejudice_ was in order.

It wouldn't help fix the situation by any means (indeed, if one wanted to avoid romance, this movie was no better than pornography), but it would cause her longing. Longing for someone better than what was out there. Someone who talked in poetic prose, well-read, but also with captivating emotions she'd be able to identify with.

Looks alone would not matter. A strong mind, personality, and all other positive traits mattered more. Would she ever discover gems like that?

"Persephone, I'm back!" she sang out to her cat who met up with her, and she knew she sounded too chipper. "Earlier than expected…"

In reality, though, it was time to get the mint chocolate chip ice cream out and to pop the DVD in. She'd collected quite a few movies since age thirteen, so it was a bountiful entertainment center in her living room.

Fifteen minutes later, though, she decided that she ought to call her parents. She hadn't been as dutiful a daughter as she could have been in recent years—ha, between work and work that scarcely left time for anything else. That was her excuse, and she was aware how pathetic it was.

Someone picked up on the second ring. "Hello? Amelia?"

She let slip a crooked smile. Her mom Lucille Harland had answered. It made her a little joyful to hear her voice again. However, this probably meant that her dad Stephen was at work at the downtown car dealership where he'd been working for almost thirty years.

"Yeah. Hey, Mom." Amelia curled up more on the couch, pressing the cellphone closer to her ear. "How've you been?"

"Good, good. How about my little Amy?"

She winced at the nickname, and as if her mother could hear her thoughts on the other end, she amended, "Oh, that's right. Sorry. You like Amelia better these days."

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's fine, Mom. You were just being nostalgic, it's OK. And I've been doing well. Work's good."

Work, always concerned about work. In some respects, she was no better than her dad sometimes. He was one of the best-paid mechanics at the dealership, and he insisted on maintaining that above par salary by working steadily. And like her, he was also a worrier.

"I know you're more than good at work, dear." She could hear Mom's smile. "But, what about personally?"

"Could be better, I suppose," Amelia replied evasively. "But, you know, I tend to live a day at a time. Can't worry about the future."

"No, you can't very well worry all the time."

"How's Dad?"

"He's doing fine."

She could have spoken to her mother all night if she wanted to. But, suddenly, her mouth ran dry and she'd run out of things to say.

"I just wanted to check to see how you guys were doing…," she trailed off uncertainly.

"OK."

She loved her mom more than anything in the world. It was almost as though she understood her better than anyone else. And yet, what with the case and everything piling up, Amelia didn't have the heart to talk.

"So…bye."

"Bye. Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah." She opened the lid of her ice cream carton . "I will be. It's just work…I'm probably getting myself too exhausted over it."

"Just get a good night's sleep. Eat more of your fruits and vegetables."

She laughed at her mother's dry sense of humor. "I'll do that. Bye-bye."

"Talk to us soon, OK, sweetheart?"

Amelia confirmed she would before hanging up. Afterwards, she sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions, ready for a night in. Persephone, eager to please her mistress, promptly took her place in a curled up position beside her.

Good movie, good ice cream, good pet…Nothing missing here.

Well, perhaps some human companionship, but why would that matter? She was fine enough on her own.

Yes…just fine.

* * *

**A/N: **I have made the guys Amelia has interacted with boring on purpose. Meaning she's searching for the right one while at the same time maintaining her other relationships like every other single career woman. But, jeez, I almost bored myself to sleep writing Lyle. It could be because I was worn-out at the time. But still...

Just putting it out there, I happen to love the name Jonathan. It's a very interesting name. And, admittedly, I found out much more interesting after Batman Begins. ;)


	12. Session 9: Someone is Always to Blame

**A/N: **Yep, been up late typing this one. Oh well, I just wanted to give you guys a sure-to-be top-notch chapter of this. Something more Crane-filled than the last one. And oh, by now, you've probably found out that he was in the movie. I was grinning in the theater-actually, trying not to grin. Oh, seeing those eyes on screen again and brilliant acting execution of course...Ahhhh, does my heart good. XD

* * *

**Chapter 11: Session 9: Someone is Always to Blame**

On Sunday night (earlier that day with just Cate at Starbucks had been absolutely wonderful), Amelia dreamed that she was on a getaway cruise in the Caribbean. For mile after mile, the blue-green water was visible, extraordinarily beautiful to look at. That vivid sea was superior to that drab bay the Gotham docks were situated near.

She had lain out on a lounge chair, both shades and sunscreen on. A lazy, pleasant smile crept onto her relaxed face. Finally, after so much work did she get the opportunity to be perfectly compos—.

Suddenly, an annoyingly loud noise interrupted her vacation. It happened to be the alarm going off on her clock.

Amelia's eyes snapped open. "Shit…"

She didn't want that dream to be elusive to her, not yet. She'd figured she still had a couple hours. But, no, her digital clock said 7:45, regrettably.

What made this Monday morning even worse was that she just remembered she had a session with Crane today.

"Nooooo," she groaned into her pillow, her voice muffled even as she released a borderline scream of vexation. She even went so far as to punch the pillow a couple times.

Why had she increased the number of days she would see him? Oh well, that wasn't entirely her fault, she corrected herself in her mind. Once again, it had to be his, for he apparently had to make her life a living hell and not cooperate with her remotely.

Difficult patients were a trial. She frowned at the thought later when she fixed herself a couple of scrambled eggs and a few strips of succulent bacon. Especially this one.

Oh, she knew she would be in for an absolute treat today. What next? Would he strangle her to within an inch of her life? Would he up the ante on his sarcasm?

The problem was Amelia never knew what lay in store when it came to Crane. He would present his whackjob ideas in a logical manner to her one minute, and then be pressed up against her, trying to unnerve her the next.

While driving to work, remembering the latter too well, she wrinkled her nose disgustedly. The fact that he had actually been physically _aroused _by her lapse in total calm…Ugh, she couldn't bear him, that vile, vile man! How dare he have been so callous, so ruthless!

A foreign voice cut in then, taunting, _But, you enjoyed that closeness._

_I certainly did not!_ the rational, saner voice shot back, _Why would I?_

_He may have been wiry…but there were definitely some muscles und—_

_Are you kidding me?! Shut up!_

Hearing voices in her head now…Perhaps Crane started to gain the advantage of her sanity slippage after all. He drove her to this madness through his indiscretions during their little chats.

Amelia gripped the steering wheel tightly.

* * *

"…And he has proven to be not only a challenge but a test to my own sanity as well," she coolly admitted to the tape recorder, though she was actually complaining. "Much less in temper that he's all but destroyed. How am I to be professional if he keeps doing this to me?"

"Dr. Harland?" Andy was already there and of course Chris.

Their charge between the two muscle-bound men only stared blankly ahead, looking at her yet not. His mouth set in a grim line, he didn't utter a word. Even when Chris and Andy left, he remained frozen in place, not intending to move.

Amelia glanced at him with a raised brow. "Aren't you going to sit down, Mr. Crane?"

He was still in his position, and for a minute, she thought he hadn't heard her. Then, he settled himself onto the chair grudgingly.

"Very well then, let's begin." She straightened herself up in her professional posture before heading over to her chair.

At the same time, she was a bit on edge since she could sense his blue eyes following her every move. Well, no doubt he glared at her, quietly furious over her for what she did to him on Thursday. Likewise, she still held some hard feelings toward him for being so quick to defend his pride and in that barbaric manner. Looking back, she felt no ounce of sympathy toward him today. She'd tried in the past, but he had failed her.

As she settled herself into the chair, with ankles neatly crossed, she inquired, "How are you faring in solitary?"

She waited one minute, two minutes, three…He kept silent throughout, only staring yet not staring at her while flexing his fingers. Amelia took this opportunity to note that the syringes on his left glove were removed.

However, the glove itself was not, deemed useless without its weapons.

_Great, all it would take would be for his man to supply needles to him_, she thought sourly, proceeding to internally curse herself. If she could figure out that guard's name…

Maintaining his muteness when five more minutes had elapsed, she sighed. "OK, then, I'll assume you're doing fine in there. I'll try another angle. How do you feel about being put in solitary? Angry to be in the padded room? Maybe guilt over your actions? Have you learned anything?"

If she squinted, Amelia swore she could see the cloth of his mask move, as if his jaw clenched. It wouldn't have surprised her. It would explain why he was adamant about not talking to her.

A ripple of uncertainty passed through her. This wasn't working. He had never stayed silent for this long. This act of defiance both puzzled and vexed her. Surely, she could not have offended him so much.

And he kept gazing at her incessantly, those pupils boring into her, as if searching her soul. He attempted to detect any vulnerability from her behavior, anything that could give her true emotions away. She readily met his gaze stoically with an eyebrow perked up asking what he was doing.

Of course, he wouldn't reveal anything. Apparently, Crane had resolved to subject her to the silent treatment. Thinking this caused her to slightly roll her eyes, which he automatically noticed. His eyes intensely locked onto hers, narrowing at her in a dare.

Amelia bit her lip before continuing, "You don't feel anything either, I gather. Then, how about you answer this since you're being so selective? What were your motives for forcing yourself on me Thursday?"

She spoke of this rather lightly, though her face abruptly became impassive, cold. How could she not refer to it as Crane forcing himself? For a brief moment, she'd found herself helpless in her limited space, and he could have done whatever he pleased. To get the message across, she had to refer to that incident as brutally as possible. Perhaps it would sink in. And damage his psyche with all that remorse.

Well, she could dream, couldn't she?

It was then that he stopped flexing out his bony fingers and lifted himself up on his elbows. The look in his eyes was decidedly deadpan to the point of condescension.

"Forcing myself? Are you implying that I would try—?"

"You'd do anything to get others to fear you," Amelia interrupted, more matter-of-fact than accusatory. "Wouldn't you?"

Crane snorted. "I draw certain lines…"

"Oh, I'm sure you do." She heard the biting sarcasm in her voice. "I didn't know villainy had standards."

Thoroughly irritated now, Crane opened his mouth to speak before closing it, pausing.

Then, he retorted, "If I didn't know you any better, Doctor, I would have wondered if you'd insinuated this incident. You tried to get a rise out of me, and it just so happened to wor—"

"I gave you a rise all right!" Amelia snapped bitterly, focusing on retaliation first and, admittedly, tact second. Once she realized her error, she barely blushed in embarrassment. Had she really just been that crude? Irksome patient or not, she behaved disgracefully.

Crane appeared to pick up on the double entendre as well, for his mouth hung slightly agape, presumably mortified at her audacity to say that.

She cleared her throat mainly to avert her attention on her faux pas. "Well…Ahem. Here I go with being unprofessional again. But, Mr. Crane, I must say that you have made it exceedingly difficult for me not to lose my temper. Yes, I will acknowledge that I incited your angry response last week. However, it's no excuse for what _you _did either."

After seemingly recovering from her earlier mistake, he allowed the sneer to return once more. "Oh, of course not, Doctor. I'll take all the blame if that's your way of dealing with the—"

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Amelia couldn't help but cut in again. "No need for you to start patronizing."

Crane sat up more, leaning forward and by doing so narrowing the space between their chairs. "It's too much fun not to, especially with the gold mine you unloaded on me just now. Quite a Freudian slip, wouldn't you say?"—his smirk widened—"Such innuendo even I wouldn't have expected from you. I do say that since you referred to me in that way, you are severely sexually repressed. What's the problem? Been too long without a man?"

Wow, he seemed intent on knowing the details of her love life. How many times had he alluded to her relationships with men? She felt certain that he was obsessed with her, oddly so.

Amelia scoffed, "You express so much curiosity on my state of mind when it comes to living alone, Crane. Unhealthy curiosity. Do you honestly want to see me every day in this room?"

"Hm, not particularly."

"Then let's get back on topic. What were your motives for me on that Thursday?" she asked flatly, already getting bored with this session and how little they'd accomplished so far. "I'm very anxious to know that instead of your opinions on my so-called Freudian slip. Honestly, you're a thirty-something-year-old man with a high IQ, and yet you discussed what I accidentally said as if you were a fifteen-year-old boy."

Maybe this went to show that, no matter a man's personality type or any other aspect, he would consistently be a chauvinist pig. Besides, Amelia could sense the minutes ticking away.

Meantime, Crane shrugged. "I suppose I will humor you for once. All right, well, the reason I did what I did was to purposely frighten you. To make you surrender to me."

She snorted angrily. "Are you sure you weren't trying anything apart from that?"

"You're letting the idea of what I could have potentially done pervert your thoughts," he pointed out jeeringly. "It was because I like to use fear. Fear can be a weapon. Fear can elevate you to a metaphorical pedestal of power."

Finally, things were getting interesting. Whenever he went on a fear-related rant, he got to the heart of the matter. This easily helped her with her notes and her overall study of him.

She pretended that she didn't know what he implied and that she was borderline intrigued by a key word. "Power?"

This produced a hungry reaction out of him. His eyes lit up at the mere mention of power. And she thought that she could see him trembling excitedly just slightly. His lips twitched.

"Yes…," he whispered rather caressingly, and that definitely revealed what he loved most in life. Amelia attempted not to snort disgustedly. "There is a kind of power you hold over someone when you legitimately scare them. Mostly, I tend to utilize it for revenge—fear, I mean. Think about it, Doctor. Has someone done anything to hurt you so irreversibly that you could not forgive their action? Didn't you want to embark on your own personal vendetta to make sure they would regret it? Come now…I know you have."

Damn him. He had a valid point in bringing this up, holding the power to do whatever you wished to someone who mistreated you. If she had a choice to go back in time and enact her revenge…

Amelia soon forgot that Crane sat directly in front of her as she looked back in her recent memory. What was the one thing a person did to her that she'd deemed unforgiveable? And of course, the answer came to her clear as day. Wouldn't she love to hurt him back? Wouldn't she long to put him in bankruptcy if she had the capability to?

Wouldn't she give anything to ensure that his reputation fell in shambles? Wouldn't she willingly tell the truth to the masses?

His worst fears realized, and she would be the cause.

No…No, she couldn't. She wouldn't be able to aspire to redemption if she'd ruined him like that. To exact vengeance on one person would result with her becoming mad with that intangible item of power.

Waking herself up from that deep contemplation, Amelia blinked slowly, half-disbelieving that she'd wasted time pondering this. She shouldn't have had to question her morals. How could she have seriously contemplated this horrid concept? Especially since it originated from Crane's school of philosophy, which wasn't too reliable at all.

He looked at her in eager anticipation, tilting his head to the side. "Well? Would you find out his fears and use them to destroy him?"

Despite idling those minutes to turn over his words in her mind, Amelia shook her head almost immediately. "No. I wouldn't. I'm not like you."

Crane pursed his lips, nodding gravely in agreement. "Nobody is. I am one of the few people, if not the only one, to know the true secret to gaining power. It is through neither money nor fame."

Such a tyrannical mentality, ruling through terror instead of compassion. What happened to this man to turn him cold, cynical, with no bit of empathy only apathy? It appeared that way to her anyway. And yet…

"I don't understand," she murmured introspectively, not meaning for him to overhear.

"What is it you don't understand if I may be so bold?"

Unfailingly polite at times as well—there was once a time when that quality wasn't just an occasional glimmer with him.

Amelia sighed reluctantly but settled on telling him nonetheless. "When you discuss fear as a whole, you're at your most coherent, at your sanest."

Crane reacted to this conclusion with a smile but not a very nice one. "To be aware of insanity, one must be particularly sane, Doctor. You work here, for instance. You would call yourself sane, wouldn't you?"

She didn't feel like speaking to him, as revolted as she was by his demented mindset that he'd been presenting analytically. It was as though during his days as talented doctor, he'd only served as a fly on the inside of these walls.

Amelia couldn't tolerate what he threw at her, speaking to her like she was his colleague, not his assigned psychiatrist.

Shockingly, to her, Crane switched the topic back to a previous one. "I believe a hidden part of yourself wants to expose that man to his fears, whether he likes it or not. How did he upset you, Doctor? Unfortunately, I could not decipher your dream too in-depth."

A surge of rage took control of her. "You know nothing, Crane. And that stays that way unless you _like _being subjected to needles that aren't yours."

She vaguely implied the ones filled with anesthetic, which would knock him out. The last ones had been applied to the back of his neck. And she could bet that that kind of pressure did not feel too pleasant.

Crane leaned back in his chair, clicking his tongue like always. "Why the threats? There is confidentiality between us. I wouldn't tell a soul your story."

"I don't believe you," Amelia said in full return to her ice queen form. "And besides, you are aware that I'm taping these…for future reference."

"Why? This isn't a courtroom. You are not a court reporter."

"Because I've never told anyone!" she confessed, yelling in frustration that another Freudian slip seemed to have occurred. "I'm allowed to have my secrets. I'm human. I'm entitled not to share anything with you. You're only going to use that trauma against me because you're really a coward who likes to pretend he isn't frightened of anything! Not even _your _memories."

As she glanced at her watch to check the time, a flash of hurt was visible in Crane's eyes. After that short millisecond, when she looked up, he chuckled mirthlessly, leering at her. "I don't pretend, Dr. Harland. I don't fear anything, not even fear. No phobophobia, in other words."

Amelia acted like she hadn't heard a word. "It's been forty-five, Crane. This session is over for the day."

* * *

**A/N: **Villiany has standards...Ah, sigh, a kinda obvious TVTropes reference for those who've been on that site before. There's a trope called Even Evil Has Standards, and I think Crane might have that to a degree. To a degree. I mean, he still is evil in a way. And I don't believe in ever portraying Crane as sappy because that's not the type he is. That's sort of a fanfiction pet peeve with me. When guys who are supposed to be the villians are just the Disney versions of themselves in portrayals, all soft and...I don't know, just in a way I try to avoid doing. Weepy, I guess. I don't like weepy.

However, Crane getting "hurt" in this chapter does mean something, as it's been the first time he might have remotely cared about what scathing remarks Amelia said to him.

Oh, and yeah, got a little edgy with this one, maybe slightly crass earlier in the chapter with Amelia's "Freudian slip." She's annoyed that the implication of that slip had happened, and she's not going down without a fight with him now. And speaking of such, it seems that she might be staring to get inexplicably attracted to Crane just a little bit...

See you guys next chapter.


	13. Session 10: A Dark Origin

**A/N: **Hey, guys. Me again. I'm trying to update as often as possible. So, this is chapter 12. And wow, this story is getting huge. Up to 3,000 hits. I haven't done this well in a while. But cool that it's doing so well. Really.

* * *

**Chapter 12: Session 10: A Dark Origin**

"Dr. Harland, pleasure seeing you in my office again. You received my memo relatively quickly," Dr. O' Riley commented, adjusting her glasses so that they weren't sliding off her nose.

Amelia smiled politely on the surface, though desperately itched to get out of her supervisor's office and accomplish the task ahead of her. Working with Crane tired her out, yet she didn't want to be away from the Wednesday appointment any longer than she had to. She might become too spoiled from not interacting with him, which stressed her out in general. The sooner she would tackle her high-energy job for the day the better.

"Well, Doctor, I do have an appointment soon, and I'd like to be prompt," she spoke in a way fitting of her professional façade.

Real Amelia's translation: _just ask me the damn questions already so I can plunge into the belly of the beast. I just want to get all this over with!_

"All right. I'll be sure not to take up too much of your time," O' Riley replied civilly. "All I require is a progress report anyway. Has he revealed anything regarding his past yet? This will be the most crucial factor."

And one she couldn't provide at the drop of a hat. Amelia exhaled for the sake of releasing her perplexity.

"No. It's something I will pursue for certain today."

Regardless, O' Riley appeared surprised. "Indeed? Coming up on ten sessions, nearly a full month, and no childhood? Well, I can't say I'm terribly bewildered by this. Even when he worked here, Crane was a reticent man. He'd spend his lunch breaks in his office with food from the cafeteria. He rarely said hi to anyone unless they greeted him first. Oh, always professional, well-dressed…but liked to keep his distance."

This was the first time Amelia listened to a full description as to Crane's work personality. Unfortunately, those traits from him didn't shock her. He would always ensure that no one got too close.

She leaned forward in her chair just a bit, as though letting O' Riley in on a monumentally big secret. "However, in spite of not knowing the details of his childhood, I have discovered things. His theories on fear's existence in humans…and he didn't seem to take too kindly to when I mentioned the fear of God as an example."

"Now, _that _is interesting," O' Riley said in reference to the latter. "Arkham records state that he was raised by his religious grandmother—well, great-grandmother, to be precise. Besides that and his being bullied, little else is really known about his childhood. That's why I say it's crucial for you to find out more."

Amelia responded wryly, "I'll do my best," though was skeptical that Crane would honestly pour his heart out to her. What a funny image.

Dr. O' Riley smiled. "I know you will. You're free to leave, Doctor."

And that led to the reason why Amelia dreaded today. She intended on inquiring about his childhood, and she doubted the results of that would be too pretty. She just might have to prepare herself for a repeat performance of last week.

* * *

In order to make small talk (or close to it) with her patient, Amelia re-posed Monday's question of how he handled solitary.

Naturally, Crane rolled his eyes. "Not much different from where I was before. I was in the holding cells area, where they hold the most dangerous criminals. But, actually, I find the padded room more to my liking. More comfortable. Well, now—initially, I was put in a straitjacket."

"Mm." Amelia remained indifferent, unmoved. "I don't believe I'd authorized that."

"You don't run the whole asylum, you realize," he said scornfully. "But, they took me out of it once they'd figured out I wasn't going to struggle. I saw no point in resorting to violence when those men had a hundred more pounds of muscle on me. Imbeciles. I'm not a threat presently."

_Not physically and without your toxin, you aren't, _she thought. _But with your mind…_

As though partially reading her thoughts, Crane went on to proclaim, "If I had my toxin with me…now that would pose immediate danger to them, to their minds. Not that I would be foolish enough to have—"

"Let's talk about your childhood."

Her tactic was to pounce on him with that suggestion when his attention would be the most averted from the session at hand.

To her victorious glee, she succeeded in distracting him. For a moment, a fleeting moment, she spotted a hint of confusion in his eyes. When it ended, however, he stated flatly, "No."

"And why not, Crane?" Amelia entreated, tilting her palms up in a disarming manner. "We're the only two people in here. The door is mostly soundproof, so the guards can't hear unless we're borderline screaming. Even then, they're most likely patrolling the halls. And, most importantly, whatever you say won't go outside this room."

He glared at her, clearly not in the mood. "Right. Except your supervisor will know."

"I'll only sum up this tape then to her, leaving out the worst details. Whatever it takes, you have to talk to me."

"You haven't come close to breaking through to me."

"Because you won't even try!" she refuted stubbornly.

A chilly silence settled between them once again, somehow routine at this point. Their rivalry was thick enough that it could be cut with a knife but more of the butcher variety.

Light eyes (though a shade darker) met her dark blue ones. She saw his wariness, his suspicion, his caution when it came to showing anything in front of her. If she didn't assure him soon, he would completely shut down.

Luckily, she didn't have to.

"What will I obtain in exchange for my story?" he asked shrewdly, as though haggling with her over a piece of jewelry.

Amelia could not come up with an automatic answer to that. Even when she strained to think of one, she ended up pursing her lips.

Great. She had a feeling that she would have to strike a compromise with him or, otherwise, he wouldn't utter one word about his childhood. She should have _known _that this would pop up in this session. He was too vastly intelligent not to look for an exchange, not to ask for something (tangible or intangible) in return.

Her nostrils flared. "I don't know. Well, for one thing, I will cut your sessions from three times a week to two again…if you cooperate."

"I don't care about that. You could just as easily take that privilege away from me on a whim. I require something more concrete."

The impertinence of this man! To think that he had to subject her to these ridiculous negotiations…

"Why should I give you anything in this trade?" Amelia inquired just to be obstinate for him, therefore irking him. "My role here is the psychiatrist. You as the patient have to feel free to talk to me about anything. Even though you definitely weren't that way when you were in _my _position, that's our relationship. Traditionally, that's how that sort of relationship works. That's why I'm successful. The reason you were so esteemed was because you secretly practiced through intimidation, which you're trying to exercise again on me. And I'm telling you, Crane, _that isn't going to work_."

She proceeded to observe his movements. His fingers ever so slightly clenched. His eyes flashed. He tightened his lips.

Yet, he nodded in acknowledgement. "A fine speech, Doctor, very grandiose. But, you forget who you are dealing with. My man sprayed you once. He will do it again if you don't comply with my terms. And who knows? I may just take it one step further by personally making sure you will be too unnerved to work here again."

"Bastard." The word escaped her lips before she was aware of it.

She could visualize the clenching of his jaw again, but she also noticed that he gritted his teeth. "Decide on your end of the bargain quickly, Doctor. I am a patient man but only to a degree."

"Then, you aren't as patient as you claim." She waved a hand at him to silence him. "Let me think…Obviously, money won't appeal to you. And I don't have access to your toxin. Hmm…"

What could he possibly desire from her? This wasn't one of those insipid romantic comedies when the man would ask the woman, "How about a dinner and a movie?"

That would be hilarious if that was the proposition he wanted her to suggest. There could be one thing that he wanted badly…but it was the one thing she would hate to give in this fair trade. This supposedly fair trade.

Damn.

After a long, drawn-out sigh, she snapped, "Fine! I'll tell you what I will about my experiences."

He looked confused, so Amelia clarified, "Just…My high school experiences, I suppose."

"Ah, well…I'll hold you to that then. I find that offer agreeable." Crane stated this somberly enough but smirked soon afterwards.

She muttered resentfully, "Of course," before going on to ask this hopefully successful question again, "What can you tell me about your childhood?"

He paused, reluctant to say anything about it still. Amelia wondered if, for a change, he was even slightly nervous over the prospect.

It seemed to her he chose to start small, naturally. "For one thing, I'm originally from Georgia."

She frowned in contemplation. "Georgia? I've never heard a trace of a—"

"Southern accent? Yes, I know. In case you haven't figured this out by now, Dr. Harland, I would prefer to forget about my past. That annoying dialect of mine was the first to go. It tied me down to what I could no longer be. Not to mention it made me look like a foolish country hick, inbreeding and all."

No appreciation for the hometown, she gathered, no nostalgia or anything that could indicate he held warm feelings toward that region. Instead, he'd rejected the place, including his accent.

He added, "I would imitate what I would hear on the streets of Gotham when I started college. Every now and again, the Georgian will come through, particularly when I say words such as saw or yawn—damn, hear that? Most grating, if you ask me."

Fascinating. Crane detested the aspects of his former life more than she'd predicted he would. It stemmed from more than just the typical angst expected in a jaded resident of a native town, particularly a teenager.

No, whatever he displayed still existed long after his high school graduation, long after his enrollment in Gotham University. His Georgia life must have been deep-seated in more negative memories than positive ones.

Amelia also jotted down "self-loathing," for it wouldn't surprise her at all if he had suffered from that. Usually, self-loathing served as a trigger for mental illness.

"Who raised you?" she asked next, not letting on that she'd already known from O' Riley. If she flat-out told him, it would break the current fragile trust he'd placed in her. For, what else could it be classified if he told her this?

"My great-grandmother," Crane replied stiffly, choosing to pop his neck muscles. "Grandma I called her…or what she forced me to call her."

Crane mentioned his "Grandma" with no trace of familial love or affection whatsoever. Absolute hatred rang out in every word he said about her. There had been something troubled with that relationship, she surmised, for him to not express gratitude for taking him in. The parents weren't ever in the picture in his life. That conclusion she could probably confirm as true.

"What of your parents?" Amelia seemed deliberately clinical in her delivery, but that was only because her heart strained with pity.

"This will come as somewhat of a shock to you, as I said I'd lived with my grandma, but they're still alive. They just didn't give a damn in regards to my welfare."

He scathingly added as an afterthought, "If I ever come across them in this city, I'll kill them."

Raw ire resonated in Crane's voice, his light eyes darkening like clouds before a storm. More of a hurricane raged in his soul or whatever remnants there were left. Fate had not dealt him good hands. That much Amelia could see within the ice-filled waters of his angry eyes. Glacial was all she could describe them.

Amelia wasn't bewildered by this tidbit, and she let him know. "I'm not surprised, Crane. Your parents didn't offer you any means of support, did they?"

The manner in which she said this, stating rather than questioning, caused Crane to glare at her. But, he let his irritation rest.

Finally, after about two minutes of quiet, he murmured bitterly, "Not even child support money. Not even on Christmas or birthdays. I wasn't alive to them. My mother had contemplated my abortion."

What? She stifled a small yet startled gasp with her hand.

However, she could tell that Crane didn't like it when people held back so she pressed, "Do you know anything about your parents?"

"Very little," he responded softly with an undertone of quiet, subdued rage. "I only know my biological mother's name is Karen, she is as religious as my great-grandmother was, and that she was never with my father. She wasn't in love with him, from what I'd been told."

Amelia guessed, "One-night stand?"

Crane sighed and judging from that sigh, she knew it had been an occurrence infinitely more severe, more complex than what she presumed. Somehow, part of her couldn't bear to listen to his response. He would tell her, right? If so, he would cross a threshold from dodging the issue to facing it head-on. He would seem to have more dimensions to him, not just by his self-titled Master of Fear guise.

"No, Doctor, worse. She was raped."

This time, there was no concealing it. Amelia gasped.

Ignoring this, Crane continued, "Yes. She was living in Gotham at the time, trying to make ends meet as a check-out girl. She'd gone out with some friends and afterwards made the unwise decision to walk back to her apartment alone. She was overtaken by a man. She couldn't identify him to police later. That man, Doctor, is my father. That sleazy waste of human life.

"So, Karen, being of the intense Evangelical faith she'd been raised on, decided she wouldn't abort me after all. Instead, she told her grandmother to keep me once I was born. She didn't want a burden on her hands and being twenty-one, she didn't want to take care of someone else yet. Oh, she begged Grandma to take me in. In fact, the very day she was out of the hospital, she took off on a thirteen-hour drive to drop me off in Georgia.

"And never bothered with me again, that goddamn whore of a woman."

So much to take in. He hadn't discussed himself in thorough detail yet, and there was all this horror to digest already.

"You haven't only controlled fear. You were born out of it, too." Amelia gathered enough of her wits to tell him.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, I was."

Another silence filled up between them but instead of frosty, it was actually quite awkward to sit through. She almost wondered if there was a human side to Crane after all, that he hid all his vulnerable spots very carefully. And here she was, by bringing up his past, digging them up. She was curious as to how that made him feel.

She looked toward him and noted that he glanced toward the door. He'd torn his eyes away from her, something she'd never seen him do before.

"All right, Crane." Amelia cleared her throat. "You can go."

"We do this tomorrow?"

As he asked this, she heard hollowness in his voice, an emptiness that sent chills up her spine.

"Yes."

He nodded, a twisted snarl forming on his face. "I should have guessed."

With a slam of the door, he was gone.

* * *

**A/N: **Yeah, I just thought the beginning of Crane's existence should be really dark. I mean, naturally, the thing that happened to his mom in my origin story would cause her fear. Born out of fear, see? Like even from the very beginning of his life, fear was a driving force. Extremely dark, yeah, but I felt it would be fitting for the story. Oh, and it's actually quite difficult for him to open up to Amelia about his childhood, so him being angry at the end of the chapter was more of a defense mechansim. He really doesn't enjoy talking about his past, as you can tell.

Hopefully, this chapter was awesome for character development like I thought it was.


	14. Session 11: Tortured

**A/N: **OK, so today's chapter will be huge, I can promise you that. In terms of content especially because it's going to be dark and intense. You thought the last chapter was intense? Oh, this one is definitely that times five at least. Strap in your seatbelts. XD

* * *

**Chapter 13: Session 11: Tortured**

Amelia walked alongside Cate, eager for some diversion away from the case. Any relief she could find was very much welcome. Not because Crane had been austerely condescending last time but because he had masterfully unveiled earth-shattering family history. The unbelievably cruel irony that he'd become a phobia-obsessed man intent on showering Gotham with fear when he'd been born out of fear. What woman wouldn't be shaken to the core by a rape? Well, women along with men, but most victims tended to be the former.

Either way, fear started him, taking root and then manifesting itself within him. She also found it highly unlikely that his mother had even spared her son too many glances after she'd given birth. Who knew how much of his father he took after?

Expertly feigning that none of these heavy thoughts had crossed her mind, she asked Cate, "So, what's on the agenda for you today?"

Her friend drained what was left of her coffee and disposed the cup in a nearby trash can. "Well, we're going to be checking out some X-rays today, helping out the cops. We started yesterday and noticed that the victim's cervical vertebrae were broken. Fourteen of the vertebrae in his spinal cord were broken too, ugly stuff. We have an idea who did it."

"Who?"

"Killer Croc, naturally. He's notoriously brutal with his victims. Hardly any of them make it out alive…like in this poor guy's case. What about you? Gotten anywhere with Scarecrow yet?"

"Mmm…" Amelia didn't quite know what to tell her. "I have, yeah, more than I have been in the past two weeks."

Cate nodded, smiling. "You're brilliant, you know. If I'd been in your position, I probably would have caved. I don't like it when people use their high IQ's for evil."

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand your point. Well, I'll see you later, OK?"

"Sure."

How could she possibly deal with Crane today, given his fury? Then again, she'd seen him angry before, so she wouldn't bother with the anxiety. She only hoped that he would continue his story, for this promised to be the breakthrough she'd intended on wheedling out of him.

* * *

Crane's eyes were vacant, his mouth set in a narrow line. He frowned once those eyes landed on her.

She had the clipboard out, ready to write down what he would unknowingly dictate to her. "Are you ready to begin from where we left off?"

He had a discernible look in his eyes that implied he wanted nothing more than to humble her and put her in her place. But why seek out revenge on her? She'd done nothing but ask her psychiatrist questions, listen, and deflect his less-than-courteous comments.

After a while, Amelia noticed him nod. "Yes. I suppose you thrill to hearing the sordid details of my early life."

"Not so far, I haven't," she spoke honestly.

"But…But…No." He shook his head swiftly back and forth. "I thought that you'd enjo—but, I haven't arrived at that part yet. I'll have to shortly, though."

"So, my first question for you is what was growing up in Georgia with your grandmother like?"

"Hell," Crane replied curtly. "Absolute hell. We were isolated out in the country where we lived, out on the farm my family had held down for generations. It was a decrepit place by this time, however, with a broken-down barn and no animals. The nearest town was a ten-minute walk, and that was where I went to school."

"Did your grandmother drive you?"

He chuckled humorlessly. "No. We could hardly afford anything. Grandma depended on Social Security checks that came monthly and child support checks that never came."

Basically, the man who had been known to wear Giorgio Armani suits at the height of his career (so Cate had said) had been raised in total poverty. It was inconceivable. What was even more ludicrous was that he had sacrificed that career to focus on distributing fear, mastering horror, and getting terror down to an art. Amelia shook her head slightly.

She continued, "You grew up in poverty, you were shunted aside by both your parents—"

"That's putting it lightly. My father never submitted to a paternity test. I have never known his name. Just as well…"

"And you were isolated from your community," Amelia finished, summing up what he revealed to her so well. "How did your grandmother treat you?"

_Because from the sounds of things, your childhood was quite bleak enough. If your grandmother only added to your anguish, I don't know how I'll take it, _she thought emphatically for once.

She began to comprehend Crane in the revelation that he could be just as human as she was. Not all of him was ice-cold and heartless. Perhaps he'd had too much heart in his humiliating origin, and he'd opted to surrender it to save himself. But, he hadn't saved himself in her opinion. He'd damned himself by burying his capacity to love and accept. He could only shun, turn away, and snidely remark on others as though they were inferior to him. Had that sense of inferiority started with him?

He was quiet long enough before answering slowly, "Not very well."

"Oh…Then…What lengths did she go to in not treating you properly?"

Crane sneered, his lips curling like a rabid dog's. "Where do I even begin? Doctor, we could be in this room all day, and I still wouldn't be finished. The crimes against humanity she committed and she, a God-fearing woman. A fanatic, a holier-than-thou type of woman. Perhaps if she'd actually read her revered Holy Book more closely, she would have practiced what she shoved down my throat!"

Jumping to his feet at that moment, he restlessly paced back and forth in front of the lounge chair. The trembling that she had witnessed in him in a previous session seemed to be more apparent. With that mask, his expression remained hidden from her.

She didn't have to wait long to discover what went through his mind as he suddenly ran toward a wall to punch it.

"Crane!" Amelia barked.

When he didn't heed to her warning, she slapped the clipboard down on her chair and rushed to him. Impulsively, she seized his elbow just as he reeled back his fist to punch again. Almost as soon as she touched him, he unclenched it and left his hand hanging limp. She heard his intake of breath and sensed him stiffen from her hands on his arm.

"Crane, stop it," she said firmly, boldly staring at him.

"Why should I?" he asked hoarsely, most likely sounding a great deal less threatening than he'd planned.

Amelia's eyes softened, somewhat approving of Crane's choice to express his emotions. Maybe he wasn't such a soulless monster after all. For the first time, he had actually displayed vulnerability.

She assured him, "I know how difficult this must be to tell me this. But, this is strictly between you and me. I won't say anything about it from here on out. OK?"

"Don't go soft on me," he scoffed. "Soon, you'll end up a puddle on the floor. And don't touch me."

It hadn't occurred to her that she still had her hands placed on his arm until he roughly shrugged them off. Pursing her lips in puzzlement, she returned to her chair, and he settled into his again.

Pretending that that little scuffle hadn't happened, Amelia proceeded, "As much as I hate to ask this, Crane, what did your grandmother do to you? You can give me a shortened version if you wish, a brief summary."

"I'm not weak, Doctor. I will tell you…I'll tell you what I remember. All of it."

Crane pressed on as though to get this portion of the story over with. "Every other day, she abused me in some form or another, if not daily. She would tell me that I was a walking abomination and, though she found the concept of abortion to be distasteful, that I should have been an exception to that opinion. I allegedly rotted with sin, and my mother had conceived a demon in her womb. I was supposed to be the child of Satan. I would be forced to kneel in front of her to pray to God and Jesus Christ for my soul to be saved on a daily basis. Though she told me in no uncertain terms that she was skeptical over even Christ the Redeemer ever redeeming me."

"And how old were you when she started this?"

"About six."

Six? Six years old and forced to listen to such fanatical babble stemming from extreme religious fervor that ended up being verbal abuse? Amelia couldn't fathom it.

"What else did she do, Crane?"

He sighed. "She would hit me with a wooden paddle while reciting Bible verses if I spoke in defense of my mother or if I caused an accident or didn't do my chores precisely the way she wanted them done. Cleanliness is next to godliness after all."

"In defense of your mother?"

So, there must have been a period in which Crane thought nothing but good of his mother. She wrote down that he used to have affection for her, probably before he found out the truth. Maybe he used to be wistful as a little boy, optimistic that Karen Crane would return one day and raise her son in that doting environment he had so desperately needed.

"Yes. I thought I could respect and love her despite her prompt abandonment of me and that all she'd done for me was labor, scream, and give me a name. As naïve and idiotic as I was, I used to long for her to go back to Georgia and fetch me with a motherly embrace." He snorted loudly. "I would have _dreams _about that nonsense.

"My grandmother kept trying to coerce me into hating my mother (which I very well do now, believe me, without her help). She'd call her Satan's whore. I was either Satan's son or bastard or both, depending on her fancy at the time. That still wasn't all she did, Doctor."

Amelia gulped uncomfortably. "What else?"

"This was how I came to be. At times, when she felt I was at my most wicked, she would put me in the suit. The suit actually consisted of old saggy pants that used to belong to my great-grandfather (whom I suspect she murdered by the way, as he hadn't attended church as often as she had back then) and a similarly matching shirt. It resembled a typical scarecrow's outfit. Now, she would pour a homemade concoction all over it before she had me change.

"I suppose this was from whom I'd inherited my superb chemistry abilities," Crane mentioned wryly.

His self-deprecation proved how much distance he was willing to put between himself and his family. And no wonder. His grandmother, if his story was to be relied upon, sounded horrifically twisted.

She commented, "I find it odd that a woman so engrossed in her faith would dabble in anything close to scientific."

"Oh, well, you wouldn't believe what lengths she would go to in order to torture me. She loathed me and didn't see me as her granddaughter's flesh and blood, much less family.

"As I was saying, she would pour a chemical liquid on the suit. Once I changed into it, she would drag me to an old dilapidated church across from our gravel road. She would shove me in there, advise me to confess my sins, lock the door, and let…let the crows do the rest. They lived there, always in the rafters…"

Amelia managed to detect a nearly imperceptible tremor in Crane's voice. If she hadn't possessed her keen psychiatrist observational skills, she probably would have missed it.

He did have childhood fears then: his grandmother and the crows that flew from rafter to rafter, cawing away in their harshly unpleasant rasps. But, where was the punishment? In general, birds weren't predatory unless scientifically specified otherwise or provoked. Crows were scavengers, not birds of prey.

"I don't understand what the torture was, Crane. You were locked inside the church and…what? What would happen in there?"

Crane was struggling on how to respond. "They…They would…I can't."

"Crane…"

"I can't. No. I've gone on far enough. I have been a fool to admit to this much of my life already. I have no idea how to phrase it."

To her own surprise, Amelia murmured rather softly, "Out of the patients I've seen in my career, all of them have suffered some sort of trauma when they were young. Don't be ashamed, Crane. I have heard all sorts of intense abuse stories that didn't always involve a belt. Just tell me. I won't judge you."

He glanced up from his clasped hands in his lap, gazing at her with steely blue eyes that bizarrely were devoid of any emotion. And then, only for an instant that she swore it wasn't genuine, they very subtly softened.

Once that brief moment was over, he cleared his throat. "Very well. I'll admit to what happened. There was a chemical in the concoction, which was colorless as well as odorless to humans. To humans, not crows, so there was possibly a hint of blood from a hunk of raw meat in that mixture. And it would set them off in a fit of anger. Maddened by that coupled with my scarecrow-like appearance, they would attack me repeatedly, with claws and beaks. They would peck me all over my neck and arms, any place where I had exposed skin. I would be in there for two hours at a time before Grandma troubled herself to let me out, bleeding from my wounds. She wouldn't treat them and, after one instance, told me it was time for supper. None of what she did fazed her. She'd justify it in her own mind."

Amelia blinked back tears. How could anyone subject a child to that?

She inwardly groaned when she sensed a tear rolling down her cheek, but she supposed she couldn't help her feelings, her new-found empathy when it came to him. No denying that Crane had been injured, both physically and emotionally. Betrayed by the woman who was supposed to protect him. She couldn't imagine an elderly woman relentless enough to abuse.

With slightly shaky fingers, she wrote down a summary concerning this far too methodical abuse that his own grandmother put him through. This also served as a good side-track from crying.

"Doctor?"

Of course, with his own astute abilities, Crane must have sensed her lack of self-control.

"Yes, Crane?"

"You will not relate this story to anyone else," he said darkly, imperatively. "I know you believe I deserved it anyway, considering who I am today. I am the only patient you have ever been repulsed by, I am aware of this."

As Amelia shook her head in the negative, another tear fell down her cheek. "No one deserves that type of mistreatment, Crane, especially not you."

Inevitably, due to her built-up well of emotion that nearly overflowed, she had to suppress sobs. She glanced back at the desk behind her, worrying that she might have to wipe her eyes with the Kleenex.

"Forty-five minutes…," was all she could say, signifying the end of the session.

Crane, however, did not move. "You don't need these tears, Doctor. They are a waste. Keep in mind that I have no soul now. I might have once, but it's gone."

"Don't say that," she hissed furiously, eyes sparking when they met his.

A cynical smirk rose to his lips. "How humorous that you actually still have faith in me."

He walked away and, when Amelia's back turned toward that desk, his smirk lost its edge and became an infinitesimal smile.

* * *

**A/N: **Hope the ending wasn't too OOC of Crane, but then again, I mean that the smile was barely visible. As for the chemical mixture that his grandmother had made...Well, dang, that part was difficult. See, I'd been looking through a couple different sites for origin stories that would explain what exactly that mixture was. I'd decided that there had to be blood in there, that way the crows could detect it, because that's the only thing they can smell. Otherwise, the mixture would be odorless to humans because of other chemicals that would cancel the blood out. I had no idea how to explain it, as I'm not a science expert. Neither are comic book writers, apparently. XP

Yeah, I had them be too poor to afford a car. Probably because I would suspect that maybe the grandmother had to sell the farm vehicles and regular vehicles in order to keep up with her bills. That, and I don't think an 70-80-something-year-old would be working at this point, the average one anyway.

Anyway, I believe I made the grandmother terrible. Really, really terrible. I forgot to give her a name. I might fix that, even though there's no canon name for her.


	15. Session 12: Revenge Seeking

**A/N: **One-thirty in the morning, and I'm updating this. I work really hard for you guys. XD No, I'm updating a lot because college is around the corner for me. I don't know if I'll be able to have time, that's why I'm updating efficiently. Here is the next chapter for you, its code name is "Interview with a Scarecrow", because it seriously felt like I'd kind of ripped of "Interview with a Vampire", but not really though. Just, it's a very talky chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 14: Session 12: Revenge Seeking**

"All right, Crane, back to your story. We left off at the part with the church and the crows."

"It all plays out like an Edgar Allan Poe story, doesn't it?" Crane said dryly in response. "I get consistently locked up in there, sometimes for no plausible reason, and pecked to within an inch of my life by those vermin. And they never forget a human face, Doctor, did you know that? They learned to despise me."

Amelia forced a laugh she didn't feel. "I did not know that about crows. One learns something new every day."

"I profess that I am…still squeamish over the thought of them, the sight of them. Yet, I'm oddly fascinated by them. I am not too partial to bats either."

She bit her lip so as not to genuinely laugh this time at the irony. So, it wasn't just because of the Batman that he wasn't a huge fan of these winged mammals? Apparently, anything that flew perturbed Crane.

Today, she wanted to get right down to business, so that he could progress with his story that, in many ways, did indeed remind her of a horror novel. She could hardly believe half of what he recalled was true. And yet she did.

"Bats? Why?" she asked, all traces of humor vanishing from her face.

"My grandmother would make me add hay in the lofts in another one of her cruelly devised, unorthodox discipline schemes. I would see bats up there, and once, they attacked me when I got too near a nest."

Amelia clicked her tongue, more and more vexed at this zealot. "And she probably knew they would prey on you, too. How could you abide that woman?"

Crane shook his head. "Trust me, it was difficult. I never really could…"

"What about your school life? We know that your home life was certainly left to be desired."

"Equally as awful as my home life, if not worse."

A confused crinkle formed between her eyebrows. "How is that possible?"

After all, his grandmother had beat him, forced him to confess imaginary sins, and come up with insane ways in which to torture him, the likes of which were unheard of to her. Surely, school was more of a refuge in comparison. But, then, she remembered that O' Riley had mentioned that he'd been bullied, chronically so.

She paid attention to his voice once he answered, "Believe me, Doctor, it _is _possible. Why else do you think some of these young souls commit suicide these days? They get worse treatment at school than they do at home. It is quite a pity"—though he sounded particularly hollow when he said this—"Schoolchildren can be downright sadistic. With me, then, the bullying was exponentially more damaging. I possessed all the wrong traits and qualities that would never shroud a popular student or even the average student. Everything concerning me was revolting to my peers."

_I might have been your friend_, Amelia thought sympathetically, her heart aching for his unfortunate plight.

Reluctantly, she inquired, "How were you bullied?"

"In methods more malevolent than you have been subjected to, I'm sure."

Amelia paused before she could combat that sardonic remark with a snide rebuttal of her own. For, perhaps she thought as she subconsciously bit her lip, she hadn't graduated from hers unscathed either.

"What are you implying?"

Crane lazily shrugged. "First of all, especially in your teen years, you were most likely fair and pristine. Girls envied you. Boys longed for you, that sort of thing. You…You aren't exactly unappealing, Doctor."

Did he…Did he just compliment her? In his own way, maybe. Not exactly unappealing indeed!

Regardless, one adjective he referenced nearly caused her to giggle. "Pristine?"

Looking at her as though amazed that she wouldn't consider herself that, Crane elaborated for her, "Precisely. You were probably adept at avoiding bullies. You won favor with your peers. You must have with your Aryan features and slim build that I'm certain you've always had. Did you ever have to wear glasses?"

Amelia shook her head. "No, not technically, only for reading. You?"

In an almost juvenile resentful matter, he spat, "Yes."

She concealed an amused smile. "Why so bitter? I couldn't help my lack of a seeing issue any more than you could help that you were…near-sighted or far-sighted?"

"Far-sighted, which made for some incurable clumsiness. Of course, the thugs at school pounced upon that flaw like they had with all my other ones," Crane explained matter-of-factly, no trace of embarrassment lingering in his voice.

"Then specify your previous answer to me. How were you bullied?" Amelia asked more slowly, letting him know that "in malevolent methods" wasn't sufficient enough.

He fiddled with his gloved fingers while staring evenly, sharply at her and her pencil tapping. Briefly, all he could focus on was the up-and-down motion of that eraser. With an irritated huff, he resolved to inform her of his bullying before the stupid pencil drove him mad—well, madder.

He began, "I was poor for starters. My lack of a decent wardrobe subjected me to taunts and jeers from fellow classmates since kindergarten. And as I grew older, the insults matured along with me. If you could call those who bullied me mature…Not only were my baggy clothes ill-fitting, I was critically underfed by my grandmother. All those nights of being forced to go to bed without any supper sometimes, depending on my 'behavior', had taken a toll on me. By high school, I'd developed as a rail-thin, skinny adolescent. Well, starting in middle school, I was called Scarecrow and Ichabod like the _Legend of Sleepy Hollow _character."

Amelia attempted to visualize Crane as that teenager, though this proved difficult as he had that mask/hood on. So, she tried to go by the Arkham description.

Well, undeniably skinny back then, without the definition and wiry build he possessed now. Maybe a shaggy mop of dark brown hair on top of his head with an acne-speckled face. He presumptively had quite long limbs, but that was obvious now, and hands and feet overly large for his limbs. Those luminous pale blue eyes would have shone through those cheap, wire-frame glasses. She was shocked that not even his eyes would have won anyone over, not even girls. Maybe they were deemed too creepy by the student body.

Crane then added, "I also had a problem with almost exaggeratedly huge hands and feet back in those days and with my long arms and legs. It made me feel like I was anthropomorphic, a living comic strip character."

Indeed, dealing with body issues was never an easy thing during puberty. Amelia pensively wondered if Crane had ever perceived himself as ugly. How had he felt whenever he looked into a mirror? Had he looked into one at all, or could he not bear the idea of it?

"Were you involved in any one-sided fights?"

His eyes narrowed, not at her but those who had played sinister roles in his past. "Not so much fights as being pushed out of the way constantly, especially by those athletic, hulking ruffians. Books were knocked out of my hands most of the time. They would try to squeeze me into my own locker. Once in high school, I was kicked down a short flight of stairs and dislocated my shoulder. I had to push it back in myself, because how would Grandma react to medical bills for a careless mistake of an accident? That would have been two more hours in that musty old church."

Amelia winced, "Ouch. I bet that was extremely painful."

"Excruciating," he confirmed.

They fell into a more contemplative silence after that with her running out of questions. Something more traumatic must have happened in those high school years, something formative to his identity as the Scarecrow.

Barely audible then, he brought up, "It happened like the plot to _Sleepy Hollow_. Ironically, I liked that book and found Ichabod Crane—hm, perhaps I'm his descendent—relatable. If only he hadn't died in the end and murdered Brom instead. Then, he could have had Katrina for himself. No matter."

Amelia's neck tingled, and she was more alert. "What happened?"

"The most humiliating experience of my life, at least during school," Crane said without a beat in between words. This subject put him on edge. "Grandma was ruthless enough but…but these two…"

"Go on," she goaded but in a way that wasn't too domineering.

"Fine. Well, in my junior year—no, longer, if I have to be honest—I'd had an infatuation on a girl named Sherry Squires. I'd thought she was beautiful initially. Long wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes…She had flawless skin, too. She was a cheerleader and the most popular girl in my class. Looking back now, however, I'd say popular is a state of mind in high school."

"I agree," Amelia contributed.

"Yes…But, she was dating Bo Griggs, the high school quarterback. So cliché as a couple those two, the American dream of adolescence. Anyway, Bo happened to be one of my many merciless tormentors. He lived to see me suffer and was also the one who had kicked me down the stairs. In senior year, I'd had enough. Maybe Sherry had been hurt by him and would have preferred to go with another boy to this masked Halloween dance the school planned on holding. So, I took initiative and, besotted fool that I was, asked her to be my date. She'd seemingly broken up with Griggs at the time."

Amelia already didn't like where this was going. A downhill spiral for him, no doubt.

Letting out an exasperated breath, Crane told her scathingly, "You won't suffer from a sudden heart attack when I tell you that Sherry rejected me. Oh, I could see it in her face that she assumed it was a tasteless joke. I'll never forget the mingled appalled and disgusted look on her face. She thought herself so superior, queen of the school and all that with her attitude. At least she had the audacity and heartlessness to say no in front of me.

"Worse yet, she claimed 'never in a million years.' Positively insufferable brat! What boded worse for me was that she gossiped about that embarrassing little incident to all her sniveling friends in the clique as well as Griggs, complaining about it. Needless to say, he didn't take to it too kindly. He fumed, as if I would have been a threat to that hoax of a relationship! I had no luck. No female eyes ever looked upon me lustfully, safe to say. Why would they? I was the scapegoat, the one no one wanted."

As much as she endeavored not to for his sake, Amelia pitied him. So, he had thought himself in love once. Once but never again after that perhaps.

"Not even that was the most humiliating," he continued in a full tirade. "The week afterwards, Sherry came to me with what was supposed to be a remorseful face and asked if we could talk alone. I was too forgiving toward her and acquiesced. She led me to an unused classroom in a part of the school I was unfamiliar with."

Amelia's eyebrows shot up, perceptive to the fact that that scenario sounded strangely familiar and dangerously frightening. She did not speak, however, allowing him to proceed.

"It was dark in there. It'd been storming that day, and besides that, the blinds were drawn in the windows. Then, Griggs sprang out from behind an unused teacher's desk, startling me out of my wits. He wore a jack o' lantern on his head, making fun of the _Sleepy Hollow _story in that respect and silently calling me Ichabod.

"I ran out of the room as swiftly as I could, which made Sherry laugh. Her obnoxiously loud shrieks of laughter followed me to the main stairs and then…Griggs threw the pumpkin at me the minute lunch break was over with the ringing of the bell. So, over half the student populace got to witness me standing with pumpkin innards streaking down the back of my head. Such roars of mirth I hadn't heard in quite some time regarding me. And I was humiliated and incensed. I swore revenge on them both.

"For, Sherry had…had asked, 'Are you afraid now, Scarecrow?' quite loudly and spitefully…," Crane trailed off, clenching his hands into fists.

Amelia sighed sadly. "Crane, I'm…I'm speechless."

No response.

"Look, Crane, you need to keep going. Crane…Jonathan…"

She hadn't the faintest idea as to what possessed her to call him by his first name, especially in that tender tone. To her, it sounded tender and too soft-hearted for him to take seriously. This got his attention, though.

He glared icily. "I told you, I'm not Jonathan, I'm Scarecrow! Jonathan…I doubt his existence. I could tolerate being called Crane but only because you've used that on me since day one and even then to irk me."

Unbeknownst to her, part of him secretly shuddered (not really at all unpleasantly) at the way she said his name, so perfectly.

"All right," he relented. "By senior prom, I knew that would be the ideal time to exact my revenge. I'd had enough of being teased and bullied, so I wanted my senior year to go out with a bang. Literally."

Thinning her lips to prevent her jaw from falling open, Amelia said faintly, "You didn't…"

"Not in the sense you're assuming, no. I was sorely tempted to do that, however, I thought I'd make more of a splash at the prom. Luckily, the old woman's bedtime was approximately seven o'clock each evening, and prom didn't start until eight-thirty.

"That mattered little to me, for I plotted to make my appearance around midnight. That was when they would release all those frivolous teenagers to their promiscuous sex and making out. Hmph, I had to leave twenty minutes early, of course, to show up on time. I dressed in the suit, for what a magnificently special occasion this would be. I knew my grandmother kept a handgun under her bed, the paranoid old hag. I grabbed that gun, crept down the stairs, and was out the door without waking Grandma in her rocking chair.

"By the time I arrived, the blissful and the lucky and the naïve streamed out the front doors toward the parking lot. I saw this as my cue, to put on the performance of a lifetime. I pointed the gun upward and fired a shot."

Unbelievable. At eighteen, he had premeditated murder. If not, he still could have killed someone in that prom party.

"C-Continue," she directed, chagrined at her stammering. But, she could barely register this twist in his story.

Oddly enough, he didn't seize her moment of weakness. "And the chorus of screams tore through the otherwise quiet night. When I heard my classmates cry out in terror, feeling the intimidation I'd felt at their hands, it was music to my ears. Half of my vendetta was fulfilled already. And it was complete euphoria, listening to that beautiful music."

He spoke as longingly as he had about the topic of fear, caressing his words and relishing in his vivid recollection. "However, I wasn't finished. I still had two people to exact my revenge upon. Sherry, the one whom I'd blindly assumed I'd once fallen in love with (to think, I'd thought during that lunch period, she would apologize and maybe kiss me) and Griggs, the pretentious imbecile. I knew Bo's car, a 1967 vintage blue T-Bird that he'd drive Sherry to and from school with.

"I saw him backing out of their parking spot quite recklessly due to him being in such a panic. I noticed other kids dash into their vehicles as well, in tuxedos I wouldn't be able to afford and sophisticated dresses, but I only had eyes for that T-Bird. Right when Griggs attempted to speed out of there, I leapt in front of his line of sight, brandishing my gun. Then, as he abruptly slammed on the brakes, I jumped up on the roof of the car.

"I screamed, 'Are you afraid now, Griggs?! Sherry?!' quoting her words back at her without a care in the world. She screamed, I cherished it as I closed my eyes, and then jumped off. I aimed to shoot, but then Griggs acted like he'd run me over, so I dodged out of the way.

"He definitely put his foot down on the accelerator all right. Before he could exit the parking lot, more flighty students raced past him. He must have cracked among that chaos. Because, Doctor, he lost control of his vehicle right then and there and crashed into a tree three feet away. I heard Sherry scream piercingly one last time, and it was over. My revenge was complete. I ran from the scene, naturally."

Amelia leaned back in her chair, astounded and gob-smacked, grasping at straws. She was grateful that Crane had opened up so much, revealing his past to her when no one else would know that full biography.

How could Bo Griggs have crashed into that tree anyway? Unless several cars slipped past his in all directions, and he'd gotten cut off by one speeding through the grass. That would make the most logical sense. And those two must have been overcome with fright. At the same time, though, they had irreparably hurt Crane and aided in damaging his psyche.

"How did they…What was the outcome of that accident?" she asked, dreading the gloomy answer he was sure to give.

He said, not with sick elation but cynicism, "Unfortunately, Griggs survived. However, he is paralyzed from the waist down these days, so he will miss out on the joys of sex, I'm certain. As for Sherry, well, official word from the police stated that she'd been thrown from the vehicle, as she hadn't been wearing a seatbelt. She died instantly."

"How did you get away with it?"

"I? Now, why would they suspect skinny, weak Jonathan Crane for inciting the incident? No one saw anything, not even Griggs. Yes. He wouldn't admit anything to the police that he'd seen me with a gun. He was too cowardly to rat me out. This was of no consequence, really.

"They deserved what they got," he murmured acidly.

"Did they?" Amelia inquired just to humor him.

She wondered if behind the mask, his face darkened with fury and hatred at the mention of Sherry and Bo. And she would bet anything there was a hint of exasperation that she seemed to ally with them.

His eerie, cold blue eyes shot up to meet her analytical stare. "Yes. They had made me even more of a laughing-stock than I had previously been. Though no one apart from Bo had seen me with the gun, my class and the whole school still suspected. I was never haunted by taunts again…after that…I drove them further away. They feared me at last."

In a saddened tone, she questioned, "Did that feel good? Did it make you feel all-powerful?"

Instead of directly answering that, Crane quoted gently, "'It is better to be feared than loved'."

"Machiavelli."

"Yes. I read _The Prince _in college for my thesis on the psychology of fear. I cited entire passages…I believe that one famous quote of his to be most accurate."

Amelia nodded over his words and then, "I'm sorry to hear that."

"What?"

She nodded. "Yes. If you'd had a richer life, you would have known love more than fear. I wish that somebody had understood you earlier in those days. Do you?"

After intrinsically contemplating for a minute or two, he replied, "I…don't know."

"We end on that note then."

* * *

**A/N: **OK, so I didn't have Sherry say yes to Crane's offer (like she did in that comic, which was supposed to be part of a scheme she concocted with Bo) because, I'm sorry, teenagers' brains are impulsive usually not that methodical. And I'm sorry, but Sherry is too ditzy a popular chick to be as sharp as Regina George. I just didn't think she'd be that way. I just wanted to do this part my own way, even when I found out the full details of the Sherry Squires/Bo Griggs/Jonathan Crane story. That quote she says "Are you afraid now, Scarecrow?" was apparently actually from the comic, which I obviously don't own. And I pictured her as blonde anyway.

So, apparently, Amelia's starting to really pity/feel for Crane, and Crane is somewhat confused over his opinion over his doctor...Hm...


	16. Session 13: Scarecrow at Last

**A/N: **Wait no more, my faithful readers! Next chapter is up, and you thought it wouldn't get any better? Wrong again! For those familiar with Scarecrow's background, his grandmother ended up dead. This will be mentioned in here along with just straight-up tension. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 15: Session 13: Scarecrow at Last**

Amelia pressed play on the tape recorder for the thirteenth time. "I have gotten further with Crane than any other psychiatrist has. I know this for a fact. The rest of them had surrendered to the pressure they had sensed in his presence, and like a dog, he could smell fear. Or at least observe the intimidated faces he'd coldly gazed upon. I'm different, purposely so, to uproot his plans. I've managed to convince him to open up exclusively to me concerning his past. And I'm a bit taken aback at the results. Crane suffered so much abuse…Lesser people might have crumbled. I wish none of this had happened to him. He could have used his knowledge to the benefit of many. Perhaps a Nobel Prize or other prestigious awards for his work."

"Really? A Nobel Prize that isn't even offered for psychology? I am not that skilled, Doctor. Oh, I'm brilliant, make no mistake, but not on that ambitious a level."

She glanced up at him, idly standing there by his customary chair, not even moving to sit down. Like a predator assessing prey, he eyed her for a reaction. How uncanny the way his eyes could be so beautiful, so transfixing, and yet haunting and disconcerting as well.

In a noncommittal tone, he commented, "I thought of what you said on Monday…about if I'd stick to my philosophy had life played out differently for me. In other words, if I'd actually had parents who cared and encountered no extreme animosity at school."

"Ah." Amelia nodded as she picked up her clipboard from the desk along with the pencil she fiddled with between her fingers. "Yes, Crane, I remember that I'd addressed it. It was right at the end of the session the other day. What were your conclusions?"

As she eased herself back into her chair, she could feel his hypnotic stare piercing her, practically impaling her, so to speak. It was penetrating, the manner in which he did that. She pretended that she wasn't aware of it once she began poring through Monday's notes, but a prickling sensation at the back of her neck stated otherwise.

"Unbelievable, how you speak to me like you would a fellow colleague at times, Doctor," Crane remarked in near-monotone, though Amelia presumed that there was more going on than what he let on. "But…I realized you brought up a valid point. If I had known any glimmer, any remote hint of adoration, I wouldn't have turned out the way I did. However, I sometimes ask myself what good has love ever done for me."

His voice dropping in volume and pitch, he added, "And then I answer myself. It is that throughout all my life, not one person has cared for me, no matter how desperately I had craved for it as a child. Not my family, not my community, I had no friends to speak of, not even strangers in Gotham…No one. I have always been alone."

Amelia had to admit to herself that this was an impressively thorough study of himself. She was actually vaguely surprised that he hadn't done this on himself sooner. Maybe he had gone out of his way to evade the truth staring him in the face.

"Do you like being alone? Do you appreciate it?" she asked, pencil poised above paper to jot down his reply.

"At times, when I value my privacy. I'm often hindered by duality, so I talk to myself to combat it"—she would have to turn back to that note later—"However…I do see its disadvantages. Back when I worked here, I was quite reclusive, still am. But, I can't change my past, so there's nothing I can do about it. I'm a marked man, Doctor, in more ways than one."

How could he handle that, going through life entirely isolated from the people he met in his adult years? Perhaps so much pain had rocked him so hard in his early life that he purposely stayed away from others. He had applied all sorts of tools: the toxin, sarcasm, cruelty, and the power of fear. All of that he'd utilized to make sure that _people _avoided _him_.

Amelia glanced down at her clipboard with nothing to say.

"Don't pity me," Crane demanded of her waspishly. "I have done everything in my power to ensure that I don't warrant it. How could you possibly find it in your heart to fret over me? No matter, on with the session."

"That was part of the session so far, Crane!" she snapped back frigidly, incensed over his courage to say such offensive things to her—courage or cowardice, hard to decide. "Honestly. Don't think so highly of yourself that I'd condescend to pity you. Right. So, how did the rest of your senior year go, prom fiasco aside?"

He glared at her before continuing, "As good as possible, given that event, I suppose. No one harassed me at school since one rumor was that I had put Griggs in that wheelchair by running him over with his own car. That would have been quite a feat if I had done it but regretfully, that tale was false. I graduated at the top of my class, so I had proven I was more intelligent than those dolts. I was certainly more articulate in class whenever I did speak. Oh, another thing, the teachers at my school were quite useless. Both in what they taught in their curriculums and the fact that they had stood by and watched me get struck down without stepping in to help."

"How nice," Amelia said sourly, still angry at him but more so at those irresponsible teachers.

"So, that was that. Grandma didn't show at my graduation, of course. Neither did my parents, judging by the zero dollars I received to go toward a college education. Thank you, Mom and Dad. It mattered not, though. I was to escape this fiery Georgia hellhole in a few, short months due to the $5,000 I would receive from Gotham University scholarships. I would attend there, far away from here."

She raised an appreciative eyebrow. "That much a year? Well done."

Crane waved a dismissive hand. "Anyone could accomplish that if they have the right brain capacity. But, before I would go, I had some unfinished business with old Margaret Crane, my beloved grandmother. You see, I had seen once the year before the process of her preparing the suit. Up in the attic, there was a library, a room ironically off-limits to me. I wondered why…until I discovered many of the books were about chemistry.

"Every night after that discovery, I would meander up there with flashlight in hand to read them, to study them. How lucky was I when I found an old piece of paper hidden in the pages of one of these chemistry books. It was the recipe for Grandma's concoction. That senile woman had titled it 'Draught of Living Scarecrow', so I knew this was the one. Her oversight cost her, I'm afraid to say."

He was definitely not afraid, Amelia could see, when a gradually widening sly grin stretched across his lips.

"Yes...Over the summer, the next time Grandma prepared the suit, I knew it was time. I had a thermos of the stuff hidden away in my pocket. It was still in a pocket when I transferred it to the suit. I was led out to the church once again…for the last time.

"In a surprise turn of events, Grandma told me, 'Let me tell you a story, Jonny-boy'—her charming nickname for me—'about a certain concubine of Satan. Her name is Karen, as you well know.'

"'Why now?' I asked her. 'What is it that's so important about my mother?'

"'Well, considering you'll be out of my hair soon, I feel I ought to tell you.' And she sneered wickedly. 'As it turns out, your mother got married to a doctor when you were eleven. I'd burned the wedding invitation because I refused to go. A Catholic named Isaac Kelley no less, ha! How idiotic she was to marry a Catholic! Regardless…she gave birth just a few months ago to a baby girl named Evangeline. She has replaced you, Jonny! Do you still have love for that whore you call your mother? She never loved you. In fact, she'd considered aborting you, committing a sin, as you were the seed from your rapist father.'

"Thus she basically told me what I told you earlier. I couldn't believe it. I was numb at first and then shook with rage. I took out the thermos from my pocket and managed to open it for all my shaking. I threw the contents at her, screaming that she was a liar. She cackled, most likely assuming I'd thrown water on her. She didn't think I'd have it in me to murder her…"

The sadistic grin returned to his face, prompting Amelia to ask, "Then, what happened?"

"I called her every name I'd ever wished to but hadn't under the impression I would be severely punished. I said she was Satan's mistress (if he existed), a lying heretic, a bitch, someone who should have died a long time ago, manipulative, evil…Hard to remember what all I'd shouted now. Mad as she was, she laughed shrilly throughout. I told her that if hell was corporeal, I'd see her there. I turned away, abandoned her, and locked the door. Then, I heard her bewildered screams as the crows ate her alive with their pecking…"

Crane laughed darkly, increasingly louder and somewhat higher than the longer he did it. When he finished, he leaned back, gathering his breath and recovering from that fit.

Meanwhile, without hesitation, Amelia confessed, "Child abuse is a crime not fit to be redeemed in my eyes. I'm afraid that Margaret Crane had no soul and died in a most fitting way."

"You see?" He looked to her with manic glee in his eyes. "She did deserve it! Perhaps I should have made the mixture sooner and sent a sample to Harvard."

"Ah." Amelia's interested piqued at that. "You'd wanted to attend there?"

Crane nodded, the maddened leer fading from his face. "It was my number one school. I applied there, but they turned me down, considering less than ten percent get accepted. Not to mention I was dirt poor. If only I'd concocted a chemical invention sooner, I could have gotten in that way.

"Harvard dreams aside, I was irrevocably shaken from what my great-grandmother had revealed to me in her last words. When I came back to the house, I collapsed in the living room and broke down. I didn't mourn her death, no…but I grieved for the loss of hope that I'd rested with my mother so fervently. At one point, I had the handgun jammed in my mouth, ready to shoot."

That disturbed and perplexed her in a way she wasn't expecting. "You were going to kill yourself?"

"I had strongly considered it, yes." Crane pinched a part of his mask around where his nose must have been located. "The only way I recovered from my emotional mess was convincing myself that fear was what I would live for. I would live for no one else, nothing else. I would pursue it like a career, which as you know, I more or less incorporated it into my career. However, I had some unfinished business to take care of first.

"After the autopsy showed that my grandmother had died of a heart attack due to the crows frightening her with their hostility (according to my account), I'd decided to track down my mother and her dull replacement suburban family. Apparently, she had stayed in Gotham all this time despite her trauma."

"How did you arrive at Gotham?" Amelia was curious.

"I hitchhiked. And I had my prototype toxin with me in case I needed to use it." Crane lowered his voice, sounding quite menacing. "That was crafted from Grandma's mixture, only I added new ingredients of my own and no meat blood. Once I got to Mother and Kelley's house, I developed a wild notion. Perhaps if I killed their daughter, I would gain my mother's notice…"

"But not praise," Amelia practically admonished him for alluding this to her. "And if she never loved you, never supported you, then why would she take you back?"

He growled out, "If she didn't abort me, she should have cared about _me_. Not some doctor she had married for financial support. I am one hundred percent positive she wouldn't have wanted to become a common _prostitute_ for survival. And that child…That grotesque creature designed to make Karen's family whole and me severed from her forever. So, how could I resist entertaining thoughts of murdering little Evangeline in her sleep?"

Chewing on her lip, she fought back uncomfortable churning in her stomach. Though Crane had killed, she wouldn't have guessed this…that he could follow through with _this_…

She murmured, horrified, "No…No, you couldn't have…"

"Killed an innocent child?" he finished hollowly. "Why? I had previously (though in this case, indirectly) murdered Sherry and purposely murdered a despicable old woman through the same methods that she had used to torture me. What would stop me?"

Amelia drew in a sharp intake of breath.

Crane rolled his eyes. "Pfft. Doctor, calm yourself. I didn't kill her. Happy? Oh, I'd wanted to. One good smothering with her tiny pillow would have been quick and efficient for me. But, as I watched Evangeline sleep so peacefully, it occurred to me that this would be one transgression I would have regretted. Too young to die. Maybe she would mature into an adult with common sense, decent morals, and contribute more to society than I've ever done. My name means 'gift of God' , though Mother certainly didn't see me as a gift, so perhaps the bitch felt like being viciously ironic.

"And Evangeline means 'good news', so guess who would be the preferred one out of the two of us? She looked very angelic in her sleep, I must say. So, I kissed her on the forehead and left through the window I'd climbed in. Then, a month and a half later, college and the beginning of the end of Jonathan Crane. And the start to Scarecrow.

"I refused to be so fragile after that. I began working out through a karate technique called Zui Quan or 'drunken fighting', a Chinese martial art. I was taken with martial arts because I would consider it violent dancing. I have Ichabod and his ability to dance well to thank for that burst of inspiration. Crane-style karate and such…And despite not being respected throughout college and even the commencement of my short but illustrious career here, I proved everyone wrong through fear."

Smirking complacently, Crane stretched himself out. "And that is the conclusion of my story, Doctor. Any questions? I'll take them."

"Please," Amelia said disparagingly. "I can't believe after your willingness to open up and your struggle to elaborate on certain parts that you are still as smug as ever."

To her befuddlement, his blue eyes gleamed like neon lights. "Would you have me be anything else?"

She clicked her tongue exasperatedly. "Well, considering you had a childhood so similar to the fictional one of…Have you ever read _Carrie _by Stephen King, Crane?"

"Ah, yes, one of my favorites. The third book I bought with a tiny fraction of my salary, I believe. And I do see your point: maybe Carrie White and I were cut from the same cloth."

His eyes abruptly narrowed into slits. "But, that's neither here nor there. I, as of this moment, still have three sessions with you a week, Doctor. I have told you all that needs telling for you to reference on your little clipboard with your illegible scrawling. Now, it's your turn. You know what I imply. In particular, I request details of the real-life circumstances featured in your nightmare. Can you do that…Amy?"

Amelia couldn't help but flinch. That callous criminal…

She ground her teeth before replying shortly, "Friday, Crane. Time's up for today."

"We still have five more minutes, it wouldn't kill you to st—"

"Time's _up_, Crane!" she repeated loudly, and the guards entered before Crane could argue this matter further. He threw her a nasty look on the way out.

_So what? _her mind asked. _Let him throw his dirty looks. He won't understand. He'll laugh at your misery._

_Maybe not. _the other side meekly suggested.

_Yes. He will._

Amelia had a sudden need for Tylenol due to her atrocious headache.

* * *

**A/N: **How odd, the relationship between these two. Just when you think things are changing between them, Crane has to go and be all cold and cynical toward her again. And you know how much Amelia loves that. XD But, I thought it'd make sense for his character to be all expecting for her to keep up her end of the deal. She doesn't want to right away, and he's angry about it, considering he basically told her his life story out of curiosity for chapters of hers. I think that's in-character. See, I'm worried that my portrayal of Crane/Scarecrow hasn't been accurate enough. I look at other people's stories, and he's so hardcore and brutal in some of them...I just feel my version is soft in comparison. But, I'm glad you guys like him.

Next chapter (you're gonna love this) is a Scarecrow POV chapter! I'm excited, too!


	17. Frayed

**A/N: **Ah, yes, another chapter! I would have had this up at 7:30 if my Microsoft Word hadn't been such a bitch. It kept acting up and wanting to shut down whenever I wanted a blank document or wanted to look something up. Hopefully, it'll be better by tommorow. Here's hoping. Anyway, this is what I like to call "the Gollum chapter" with Crane. Enjoy. XD Oh, and I also don't own "The Christmas Song" by Nat King Cole...you'll find out what I mean when you read.

* * *

**Chapter 16: Frayed**

As soon as Chris and Andy placed him back in his old holding cell (the least Dr. Harland could reinstate), Crane gritted his teeth so that he wouldn't yell. He couldn't believe that he had squandered four sessions not probing that irksome woman's mind but instead narrating his own autobiography. This wasn't the Scarecrow he'd come to admire and come to hold on to selfishly. Part of his true identity rested within that guise. Only, it wasn't a façade to him, for how could he call Scarecrow something so trivial?

Not after all he'd done for him, not after all the influence he'd bestowed him with. Quite a few pawns he'd experimented on had fallen, a mere handful within the vast scope of Gotham City. His ultimate goal would be to drive them all insane, to render them incapable of a single coherent thought due to the sheer terror that would surround them.

If (no, _when_) he escaped this cell, he would have to pull back and strategize again. The plot had to be entirely foolproof, and that meant no snitches the next time. Trust no one. That would be objective number one. Objective number two: maybe instead of distributing toxin through the water supply, he could coat the air with it. Take to the skies in a plane and somehow scatter his invention all around.

Humans needed water to survive…and air as well, oxygen, the essential component to their very existence. First Gotham, then that deplorable backwoods Georgia hometown, and after that perhaps these United States!

"_Now, you're talking," _Scarecrow cordially congratulated him.

Ah, if the United States screamed from the golden beaches of California to the craggy ones of Maine, Crane could rest easy. He'd even probably sigh in satisfying pleasure due to his revenge being totally and utterly fulfilled. Well, then, he would have to kill his mother of course, his father (hopefully, he'd "accidentally" murder the right person in regards to that), Kelley, and Evangeline.

No, Evangeline's life he would spare, so that she would know what it was to be lacking in basic necessities such as decent food, comfortable shelter, comfort, caring, sympathy, and love. Maybe he would generously take her in and make her his right-hand woman. At the same time, he would be so ice-cold to her and vitriolic. In effect, he could become the bully and push his kid half-sister around and tell her how much a whore her mother was…

But, why? What would be the reward in that? Well, Crane would never have children, but he still liked the concept of passing on his ideology, philosophy, life lessons, and morals to the next generation. No matter how twisted all of his were. He would teach young Evangeline to become embittered. And when he died, he needed an Heir or Heiress of Fear to assume his position. Much like the Tudors of England, there would be a Fear Dynasty remembered for ages to come. He would inadvertently write himself in the history books as the King Henry VIII of it, only without the pathetic death.

If he had the option as to the manner in which he would expire, he would choose to go down in his (as of yet) unconstructed toxin plane. Wouldn't that be noble, dying for his cause?

"_This is such a fantastic scheme, Jonathan. Well, _our _scheme." _Scarecrow chuckled in that cold way that was normally never mirthful. _"But, aren't you forgetting to factor in someone? A bullheaded young doctor who refuses to cooperate with us? What's taken you so long, Jonathan? We were doing so splendidly at the very beginning. We had her in the palms of our hands…But, then…"_

"Then what?" Crane sighed wearily out loud, slightly annoyed at Scarecrow's tendency to stay cryptic.

"_Someone faltered," _Scarecrow snarled. _"And I'm fairly certain it wasn't me."_

Tightening his fists to the point that they turned white at the knuckles, Crane more than ever restrained himself. He couldn't shout because if he did, they would drag him back to the padded room. Not to mention they would stick around to eavesdrop on him and Scarecrow. He (well, no, technically, they) plotted to harm Gotham so profoundly that it would leave a long-lasting effect.

If he screamed at a man who didn't exist except for in his own mind, he would return to the padded room and never make a break for it. He had lied when he had told the doctor that he'd enjoyed it. Truthfully, he didn't, aware of what it symbolized.

Incurably mad, so stay here in your permanent adult playroom, and never come out. That was what it signified.

Finally, Crane shot back, "Why blame this on me? All I've done to her has solely been to break her! It's part of the plan to get us both out of here. Besides, if she ends up a crying, jittery, and useless heap on the floor during one of these sessions, that's when we escape."

"_But pressing up against her? No, never mind, that had its intended effect. She reacted through trembling, very slight, but we could still feel it. However, while I was rejoicing, you were gushing over how close her face to yours."_

"Gushing?!"

"_Shhh!"_

"I-I…No." Crane shook his head furiously, turning his glare to the floor. If only there was a window installed in here. He could use a little sunlight to glance at once in a while.

He added, "I did not gush. I simply hadn't realized how striking her eyes and lips were—striking as in unflattering. Listen, Scarecrow, Dr. Harland is irrelevant to this whole process. Leave her out of this."

"_What a protective thing of you to say. And you listen, Crane. We are about to embark on our villainous zenith, so I can't have you melting on me. Understood?"_

"Ugh," Crane unintelligently grunted, waving a "leave me alone" hand toward someone who wasn't standing nearby or breathing. What a manifestation Scarecrow had evolved to in his mind. Since childhood, he'd always lain in wait at the back of Crane's head, whispering suggestions such as hurling rocks back at the third graders doing the same thing to him during recess.

In fact, Scarecrow had dared to tastelessly tell him that he could help him stone those boys to death for the chorus of "ugly, skinny Scarecrow" to permanently cease. He had always been there to assist and sometimes comfort, playing both roles of mother and father, a Mr. Mom that happened to nurture and advise.

Scarecrow was everything. Crane could hardly imagine kicking him out of his mind. Where else was he supposed to stay? He would be in some void where no one would serve as company. He couldn't abandon Scarecrow to a fate like that, considering he was his mother, his father, his brother, his best friend, his mentor, and his consul. He embodied all the components that he, in real life, had sorely lacked.

Still, at the moment, Crane paced back and forth and even removed his mask to breathe more naturally. The thing proved to be a nuisance at times, and he'd only kept it on to protect his identity around the Arkham staff as well as his psychiatrist.

But whose identity? His or Scarecrow's? He puzzled himself…

"_Then, stop thinking for a damn minute!" _Scarecrow boomed. _"Pay close attention to every word I say. Dr. Harland does not express any sort of interest in you, at least not genuine. She is only in it for the hefty pay raise and the respectable promotion. At the rate she's going, she will end up being director of this hole by the time she's thirty-five. She is using you, Jonny."_

"Don't call me that."

"_If you heed to me next time, I won't," _Scarecrow told him off sternly. _"You (_I _would not have come up with this foolish idea, but you wouldn't listen) have entirely been too trusting toward her. I am actually quite disgusted with you. You told her our life story. What the hell was that? In exchange for information of her own, which I might add, she wouldn't detail today? You behaved like an idiotic dolt with a 100 IQ! You weren't acting like the intelligent person I'd befriended, let's just say that for a fact. Dr. Harland is a liar and a cheat! You can tell her whatever you'll like, and she'll scribble it away but ask her to talk about herself…"_

Scarecrow then proceeded to imitate a female voice. _"We won't discuss me, Mr. Crane. I'm to be enigmatic while you can be an open book. Don't mind me."_

Tired of his alter ego's volatile words, Crane leaned against the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor. He didn't have time for this. Why was Scarecrow persisting in talking meaningless trash about the doctor?

She had…She had cried for him.

"_Two conclusions on that, Jonathan. Crocodile tears or PMS. Which sounds more logical?"_

"Leave me alone," Crane sighed exasperatedly, knotting his fingers through his hair. "When you tell someone about your background, it tends to be very draining."

"_That's what people with hearts do," _Scarecrow deadpanned, sarcastic to the utmost extreme. _"You don't have one. I certainly don't. Let me be blunt here. Once you commit murder, your soul withers away. Don't delude yourself into thinking you warrant a second chance."_

Second chance? Ha, Crane wasn't that optimistic. He knew that his life had contained no luck and no charms. Every day of it when he was growing up had been melancholy enough to the point that he hadn't wanted to get up in the morningsand see what each one would bring him. It was two universal themes: disappointment and anger. No, more like wrath, one of the seven deadly sins.

"_It's a good thing we're both atheists then," _Scarecrow whispered, carrying a grin in his vilely playful voice. _"Granny would be rolling in her grave a million times over. Hopefully, her perception of Satan is cooking her like chestnuts roasting on an open fire…"_

Demented as he was, he began crooning those specific words to the classic Christmas tune, and Jonathan couldn't resist slyly smiling. He even held back a bout of laughter. The best he could do was his lips twitching. In his own cynical way, Scarecrow tried cheering him up, and maybe it worked somewhat. Jonathan himself surely couldn't come up with these morbid jokes. He thought more on the rational perspective, more scientifically and calculating. Letting Scarecrow out to play did have some merits then.

Now, back to the issue at hand: Dr. Harland. How in the world was he ever going to eliminate her? Scarecrow was right. They had both done so well at the beginning, what with the ways in which they'd dodge intrusive questions. Jonathan's personal favorite method had been when they would replace her question with another rather than a legitimate answer, testing her patience.

But, they'd hoped that with time, as their inquiries became deeper and more persistent, she would be unable to shake them off. That she would be like the last few psychiatrists by appearing uneasy, making it mere child's play to pull her in little by little. And she would seriously mull over what she feared most until she would be too shaken to even conduct an interview.

Conversely, though, Dr. Harland would not back down, opting to fight him when she should have allowed these mind bombs he'd implanted to go off and send her reeling. No, it was always "why?" with her such as "why do you ask me so many questions regarding fear?" as if the answer wasn't emphasized lucidly enough to her. Even after his man had gassed her, she hadn't seemed anxiously neurotic or timid in her nightmare. On the contrary, she'd challenged him, seizing control of her (though, really, his—no, _their_) nightmare through that infernal bucket of sand. And even when she had come upon him, when his intentions had clicked in her head, she had moved to physically attack him.

Her verbal barbs could be as devastating as his, her sarcasm and keen wit having caught him off-guard on more than one occasion. Her cobalt blue eyes would flame whenever he, through Scarecrow, deigned to mock her. In her profession, Dr. Harland was used to holding sway over her patients. And that was fine. It made logical sense that she should lead the sessions and allow her patients to obligingly respond to every inquiry—he used to do this himself! Before he'd conducted the experiments, that was.

But, when he had been sprawled out on that therapy couch, it had quickly turned into a power struggle, hadn't it? A battle royal, a major conflict, and a maturely advanced game of matching wits. They had both exchanged blows, their harsh words.

When would it end? He had to win! He couldn't let her attempt to claim victory over him day after day. It was unacceptable.

"_Then gas the bitch yourself," _Scarecrow said as if it was so easy, so effortless. _"You can't allow her the option of catching you off your guard and overwhelming you. These psychiatrists in the past you'd dealt with and with barely a flick of the wrist. How is she so different?"_

For once, in an odd turn, Crane stated the obvious. "Because she's a woman. And because she can wage these witty battles with me, proving that she's very intelligent. Not just in that flippant sense unlike some of the others in that she has the Ph.D. but doesn't expressly show it. Do you know what I mean, Scarecrow? She has shown every ounce of that education and can compete with even the likes of me."

Scarecrow gaped and made a strangled noise of indignation, but his counterpart virtually ignored this and pressed on, "Yes, she can. She has the ability. Dr. Harland has the tenacity and the perfect grip on reality that keeps her from falling for our tactics. When I revealed my story (I hardly alluded to you), she—"

"_Hardly alluded to?! 'I'm often hindered by duality.' If that isn't blatant enough, I don't know what is. Careless mistake on your part, Jonathan. I'm always trying to help you with your best interests, and she—"_

"Is bold and brave in front of me to the point of eccentricity. Why would anyone dare act that way in front of either one of us? And when she heard my story, she pitied me when I emphatically told her not to…Yet, not for the whole telling, only certain parts. Perhaps she accepts me and my past for what I am and what it is. For what _we _are.

"And…And she's beautiful," Crane finished lamely, running one hand through his hair while the other tightened on his mask.

And here was Scarecrow's cue to be sardonic and as unscrupulous as ever. _"Beautiful? Oh, what a convincing argument, Jon, way to go! Well done, my boy! Hmph, but if I must be honest, you are right about that. I'd tap that. But, like how _Sherry _was beautiful, I suppose? That little slut who wouldn't give you the time of day?"_

"No. Shut up. Sherry wouldn't have been an eighth of the woman that Dr. Harland is, had she lived. Ditz didn't bother to strap on her seatbelt. Then again, she wasn't in the most placid frame of mind, was she?" Crane smiled dryly, coolly.

"_Clever," _Scarecrow said half-proudly, half-scornfully. _"Sherry didn't deserve you, Jon. I told you repeatedly. No matter…You can't feel any sort of emotion for Dr. Harland. She's a little piss-ant like all women are, and we need to deal with her accordingly. I still say that you should gas her. Maybe kill her."_

Crane's eyebrow lifted just slightly. "Kill her? No, Scarecrow, that is unwise. Besides, it will be very boring without her around. I'd think that you'd agree with me."

"_True, true. But, women have ruined great men, I'm only warning you. Marc Antony, Paris, Napoleon—Marie Antoinette practically led to Louis XVI's head to be chopped off, speaking of France—and your Henry VIII. He kept letting women destroy him, long after he'd kill them. Just get a grip. Gas her!"_

"I'll consider it." Crane could only respond vaguely, for he wasn't sure if a screaming Dr. Harland would fill him with joy any more.

"_Very jolly good. Do _something _to intimidate her. And now, we wait."_

Wait for the time to break out. They could hardly wait for this moment, when a new and improved plan would be set in motion.

* * *

**A/N: **You'll notice Scarecrow is a bit of a misogynist. It's only because every female in Crane's life has let him down. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. At least when he was growing up. And that he tends to love the idea of gassing people with the toxin, lol! A bit trigger happy, that's why he's kind of amusing. The more I wrote him in this chapter, the more I liked him for the villian he was. I looooove how's there two sides to Crane in that respect and in a way. It just makes him that much more fun to write.

And I put Scarecrow's quotes like that because the quotes mean he's important enough to basically be his own character but the italics mean that yes, he lives in Jonny's head. :) So, it's half-thought, half-real character sort of.

Also amusing to me: that Scarecrow thinks 100 IQ (which is considered average intelligence, not half-bad) means dumb.


	18. Unforeseen

**A/N: **You know, I don't like letting myself down. And I hate it if I'm going to let readers down. So, this morning, my Microsoft Word quit working. Even when I went to get back to it, it'd only work for five seconds, then some window would pop up saying it stopped working, then it quit on me. Every single time since. BTW, guys, if you know a solution to that, help will be appreciated. But, anyway, I went and downloaded a different word processor, typed this baby up, and here is your chapter. That's freaking dedication, wouldn't you agree? XD So, here's this chapter...That you'll love. Some songs I don't own. A bit of music irony, actually, toward the end of it.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Unforeseen**

In a way that didn't suit her normally collected demeanor, Amelia fiddled with a strand of her pale blond hair as she walked through the automatic entrance doors. Just a regular day at Intensive Treatment, what did she have to worry about?

She couldn't possibly be concerned over Crane's potential reaction if she told him that she wouldn't follow through on their deal. Besides, she was the doctor being the professional in control. And as such, she had the choice not to make negotiations with her patients. She shouldn't have had to with Crane! She had just wanted to squeeze his story out of him. No, today, she would inform him of her decision to back out and to hell with his rage at his requirements not being met!

Amelia had been an absolute idiot to have agreed that day. He was in no position of authority to order her around. After he would throw his tantrum and pursue his ensuing rant of what her consequences would be, she would prescribe him some Prozac or whatever to take daily. Then, she would have the guards sedate him.

That was what she would do, no if's, and's, or but's.

Dr. O' Riley strode toward her from the opposite direction, her heeled black shoes clicking in her wake. Now, that was unusual. Her supervisor tended to industriously work inside her office. She never really wasted time wandering the halls. So, whatever she had to say to Amelia couldn't be explained through a simple memo e-mail.

"Dr. Harland, I need to talk to you. This is urgent!" Dr. O' Riley stressed, her tone sounding on edge, somehow tense.

Immediately, Amelia knew what (or technically, who) this would be about.

_Crane, _she thought bitterly.

What did he do? Sic his man on all the other guards? Talked to himself, maybe raving about infecting those here with his toxin?

Amelia could hardly predict what pressing news Dr. O' Riley had to share with her, but it couldn't be good. Then again, there was only so much Crane could do since he was under intense surveillance. He was a dangerous man, a true menace to society. They had to keep him under lock and key.

Unless...

"What happened?" she whispered, checking to make sure the other staff members went about their business.

Dr. O' Riley sighed. "I better tell you in my-"

"I don't mean to be rude, Doctor, but if this is an emergency, you might as well inform here about what's going on. Save us both the trouble."

"Dr. Harland," O' Riley murmured so softly that she could barely hear her. "I've received a call from the main office. Crane's escaped."

Shit!

Biting the inside of her cheek, Amelia repressed her sudden impulse to release her frustration through shouting. Obviously, it wasn't O' Riley's fault that a convicted madman criminal was on the loose. Somebody had neglected their duty.

Or somebody had set him free. Why hadn't she been firmer with Crane in forcing him to let slip that guard's name? She should have interrogated him better.

"When?" she asked wearily, shifting gingerly from one foot to the other.

"Just last night. The alarms went off, but by the time reinforcements came, it was already too late. No Crane...but apparently not one of the night shift guards either. Someone named Leon Cass..."

That could have been the man's alias. After all, if Crane had considered "Leon" one of his smartest men, he certainly had an IQ over 110, but Crane could have abetted him in landing the guard job. Amelia released a vexed huff. At this point, nothing could surprise her about him and his reasoning behind his every action any more. He was too clever for his own good.

"Well, I guess this means no session with him today," Amelia commented dryly, smoothly masking her ire at this baffling patient. "How about I check in on Miss Harris? Who is treating her now?"

And that would be her objective for today, apparently. Yet, she couldn't help but feel relieved that it had turned out that he'd fled. No confession from her to him, and he would have taken advantage anyway. So, perhaps he hadn't been that intrigued at the offer she'd made, after all.

Crane was a genius at tactics, so he very well could have been bluffing.

Oh well, fine by her. This was one secret she would carry to her grave. The one time she'd mentioned it had been to her parents and even then just a synopsis of what had actually happened on April 11th, 2000.

* * *

"I say we go out. And since you need to associate with other people besides me once in a while-"

"Oh, please God, no." Amelia half-jokingly rolled her eyes. "Not another man."

Cate and Amelia met up at the entrance of the Intensive Treatment building and were now walking back toward their respective vehicles. They planned out another girls' night to celebrate their weekend. For Amelia, it felt more like celebrating the shaking off of Crane. No more would she have to contend with his patronizing, his overwhelmingly smug arrogance.

And yet, it seemed on the days when he'd discussed his childhood and the incident with Sherry and Bo, they had gotten along the most. His only conditions had been not to pity him and not to blab his stories within a full-scale one to anyone. Both could be accomplished, even the former. After all, for a while there (there must have been a time before the human experiments), he had risen above his classmates. He was even named "Arkham Employee of the Month" in _The Gotham Daily_, if she remembered correctly. He'd done well, made plenty of money.

It was a shame. If he'd chosen to turn the negatives in his life into positives, he would not have ended up wreaking havoc on Gotham citizens with that toxin, obsessing over revenge with a "me against the world" mentality, and sitting in front of her while discussing the finer points of fear.

On the other hand, if he had turned away from the war path, she would never have met him.

So? Oh, wouldn't that have been a tragedy? Crane wouldn't have given her a nightmare that was his personal gift from him to her, and she wouldn't have had to hear him subtly insult her every day. She would weep in the knowledge that she'd never met him. How dreadful! How awful!

How...Despite her withering acerbity, she had been uncannily drawn to him and perhaps him to her. They matched and equaled in their rivalry. The "evil genius" aside, she could have been good friends with him.

Ugh, then again, that atrocious pride of his wholly detracted from his appeal. Ha, what appeal?

All this hustled through her mind in thirty seconds as Cate replied with a hint of a wink, "No, Amelia, don't freak out. They're both women. I just think that you ought to get to know more people. I know how you are. On your free time, you just watch movies. Then, you'll tell me your critiques on them..."

"_Someone _has to know how vastly underrated _The Truman Show _is." Amelia grinned back, taking the joke in stride.

"Well, anyway, I called up Liz and Jody, and they can't wait to meet you. I go quite a while back with them, since high school. You'll love them."

She nodded, in brighter spirits. "I love you, don't I?"

Cate laughed, jabbing her thumb toward her car. "Here I am over there. Now, get ready and be at Harry's at seven-thirty sharp."

"Yes, m'am."

Laughing quietly to herself, Amelia got into her Civic and wondered how she ever became so fortunate to know Cate.

* * *

On the drive back, she set her eyes straight ahead with the traffic moving surprisingly well for a Friday night. Maybe everyone else rushed to prepare for their weekend celebrations, too. Tonight would be a great time to blow off a little steam. No harm, no foul in that. Amelia, however, resolved that if Cate and her friends ordered a round of tequila, she would not partake. She just wasn't a fan of hard liquor.

With the always delightful song "What is Life?" playing on her radio, she fairly enjoyed her drive home for a change...

...Until she idly glanced at a red Saturn Sky riding behind her.

This was something she initially chalked up to just another Gothamite behind her, and they'd turn off eventually. But, when she turned right at the next stoplight, the car headed in the same direction.

_Coincidence, _she thought, laughing in her head.

A few minutes later, she turned right again and so did the Saturn. And so it went until she was nearly back at her apartment complex. With a slightly more anxious glance at the rearview, she noticed that red Saturn still following.

"What the hell?" she muttered, a bit agitated now.

Not too rapidly but not too slowly either, she parked in her usual spot by her apartment building. She calmly got out of her car, her heart racing but her face betraying none of that flighty behavior.

_I have to look as inconspicuous as possible. This man or woman...Whoever it is can't know I'm on to them, _she thought assuredly. _But, nice to know I have a stalker, though, really pleasant._

Once she had retreated to her room and changed into a pair of fairly stylish white jeans and a black sleeveless tank top, Amelia casually looked out her window to see if her new stalker friend was around.

And sure enough, the Saturn Sky was parked across the street from her.

Squinting, she hoped to make out who it was...and it was likely the silhouette of a man. Big, tall man, apparently. His shoulders were massive, and from her viewpoint, all she could tell was that he wore a ball cap. And he just sat there, immobile, making no move to get out any time soon.

Her breath hitched in her throat. How long had this guy been following her? It could have been recently today or a few days or weeks...Amelia's heart plummeted to her stomach.

"I wonder if Crane put him up to this," she murmured, her hands unconsciously shaking, partially out of nerves and partially out of...what?

Exhilaration?

But, no, she was tricking herself into thinking her life had transformed into an Alfred Hitchcock film. She couldn't believe this.

Excitement? No, she'd become absolutely paranoid and batty, but would it shock her senseless to find out he'd sent out a tail on her?

"Now, who's developing the high opinion of themselves?" Amelia lightly chided herself, going to the bathroom for hair and make-up. "Yes, he escaped last night, but he wouldn't come after me...He doesn't..."

Yes, exactly, she soothed herself, now all she needed to do for the moment was to...Hm, save the make-up for later and watch some TV.

As for supper, she'd planned on that TV dinner, the spaghetti and meatballs. Her favorite, as far as those meager meals went. As long as she settled in with Persephone (sweetly mewing away, now that her mistress had returned) and did these normal activities, pretending that a 6'5" man wasn't stalking her at all...

She'd be all right. The mace she always kept in her purse for safekeeping. To go without some kind of protection in Gotham was utter lunacy. But, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

The night out had been a well-deserved treat in Amelia's eyes. Not only had she had so much fun with her adult best friend, chatting and joking and gossiping, she'd befriended Liz and Jody. Liz Li worked as a chef at an upscale Italian eatery, and Jody Walker worked for _The Gotham Daily_ as a sportswriter ("Who says the women can't write about football? I'm very good with the names from _this _team...").

They were two of the most dynamic women she'd ever met, and she felt like women's lib had at least done something for all of them. It was like _The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants_, a beloved book of hers as a teen. Just being empowered, enlightened women...

Twenty-first century, she loved living in it.

"We'll keep in touch," Liz told Amelia as they were on their way out, giddy from the conversation and the buzzing alcohol (Amelia stuck to wine of course, while the other three had, sure enough, tequila). "Add me on Facebook!"

"Will do," Amelia breezily assured.

"See you. Have fun at Arkham, you two," Jody joked.

She and Cate laughed before heading to their vehicles.

"Didn't I tell you they were great?"

"The best, Cate."

"Well, I'll see you at work Monday then."

"Yeah, you too. Have a good one. Stay safe."

Oh, what a night! What a thrilling, fun night, one that she hadn't had since college. She would have to do it again some time. It was an absolute must for her. Amelia drove home to the sounds of Norah Jones' "Come Away with Me", feeling damn good about herself and her life suddenly picking up momentum.

Amazing, what could happen with the absence of Crane. Was it any coincidence? She thought not.

" 'Come awaaay with me'," she sang the last few words when it was a block and a half away to her apartment.

She'd come a long way since that certain April 11th. At this rate, she would have to, right? In January, by the time that next year would roll around, she would be twenty-seven. No time to dwell on the past, only live in the here and now. That was what she'd learned on this night out, letting go, having fun, and allowing new people to come into her life.

Progress! As a psychiatrist peering into her innermost self, she could see that clearly. Perhaps to reward herself, she would happily eat that frozen yogurt she'd bought yesterday.

So upbeat was Amelia that she lightly hummed that Norah Jones song as she unlocked her door. And oh, she'd seen out of the corner of her eye that loathed Saturn was gone. What kind of man drove a Saturn anyway?

Persephone meowed cheerfully, and she was about to turn on the lights...

"I much rather like the dark, thank you."

The smile that she'd been wearing died on her lips. How come it would always come back to work? In some form or another in the past month, it had. It had resulted in many things, including a mere break-up. But, no...No, no, no, not that voice in her home.

In her apartment, no, impossible!

However, on the contrary...

Her now former patient Jonathan Crane idly glanced up to meet her eyes, his blue stare frightfully piercing. "Hello, Doctor. I think this is a cozy apartment you have here. And yes, I have met your cat."

* * *

**A/N: **Dundundun! Don't you guys all love a good cliffhanger? I wonder how many of you are actually surprised that he's here. Maybe not many...

That guy Leon is actually named after the last name of Cillian Murphy's character of In Time, which I watched online yesterday. The movie itself was just OK, but of course, CM was compelling in every scene he was in. I even felt sympathetic with his character (according to TV Tropes, probably in the movie when I shouldn't have felt sorry for him), but maybe that's just because I can never really hate a character of his. I love good acting.


	19. Flooded Emotions

**A/N: **Hey again, readers. Wow, so much viewership for last chapter. 100 hits, and it hasn't been quite 24 hours when I put it up last night. I'm really impressed with you guys. Thanks. Reviews make me happy. They're not motivation, but they just put me in a bright and sunny mood.

In this chapter, someone emotionally blows up. That's all I'm saying for now. And things get nasty.

* * *

**Chapter 18: Flooded Emotions**

Amelia could not utter a sound for a minute, not even a strangled one of bewilderment. Jonathan Crane—no, _Scarecrow—_was here...in her apartment, making himself too at home. He was polite in his greeting to her, but she could spot the cunning glint in his eyes from a mile away. Whatever he had in store for her (whatever it was that prompted the defunct Dr. Crane to make a house call, in other words) couldn't bode well for her at all.

What had she done? She hadn't been overtly sharp-tongued with him for the past few days. Nothing she had said couldn't have possibly enraged him exceedingly.

He smirked through his mask.

She couldn't deal with this. No other option remained but to send him on his merry little way.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Amelia interrogated him, her voice quiet but angry. Very, very angry and downright infuriated. She felt like Mount Vesuvius just minutes before it had erupted, coating the helpless citizens of Pompeii in volcanic ash.

Crane settled further into her couch, aware that it would set her off more. "Now, is that how you speak to all your guests, Dr. Harland?"

"No, simply the uninvited ones, Mr. Crane," she snapped back, now beginning to quake from all of her pent-up ire. Her magma rose to the surface, her temperature swiftly rising.

"Harsh. You wound me. I suppose you are pondering over why I so graciously invited myself to your home."

It seemed like at times, he knew her more than she did herself, much less the people she cared about, the loved ones and general support system she surrounded herself with.

"It doesn't matter the reason," Amelia lied. "Just get out."

"No."

That wasn't what she had anticipated. An elaborate reply playing at coyness, maybe. Or another veiled insult. For some reason, that simple "no" put her nearly over the edge.

Crane was acting through that monosyllable as though she was a toddler who could barely comprehend the English language. With her vast array of vocabulary words, she would assume that he'd talk to her more as an equal by now. Instead, it was back to square one. He mocked her.

"B-But, why?" she embarrassingly stuttered. "You clearly thought that you ought not to lean on my expertise any more. You don't value my professional opinion, and most of all, you escaped. You don't need me any more or require my services."

"I think I do. There is _something _you and I need to discuss."

No, she couldn't tell him that! Or anything! He officially pushed her over the edge.

Charging toward him on the couch with an unbridled yell, she screamed, "GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE! NOW!"

Ready for her to attack him (remarkable, considering her faithfulness to her cool, subdued behavior), Crane seized her wrists in a vice-like grip. Amelia viciously kicked him in the knee before proceeding to land a similar kick to his groin.

"_Always the family jewels," _Scarecrow whined. _That's it. Don't let her get away with it, Jonathan."_

Indeed, he didn't. With an irate growl, he, still bent over, grabbed her ankle just as she prepared to kick him yet again. Amelia tumbled down to the floor, cursing. His hand shot out at her so fast, she hadn't even seen it coming.

He pulled at her hair, and as relentlessly as she tried, she couldn't hold back a scream. "AH! Goddammit, that hurt!"

"I'd say you are getting a bit hysterical, Dr. Harland," Crane addressed her placidly, though his rage bubbled over. "How about we have a private chat?"

She struggled, but his grip had locked on her hair. "No. Get away from me."

Inexplicably, his hand slackened, impelling her to elbow him in the chest, kick him in the knee again (wedging the heel of her shoe for good measure), and made toward the kitchen. A rolling pin would possibly be able to do the trick as far as a weapon went. And one well-targeted hit upside his head would hopefully knock him unconscious.

"_Jonathan!" _Scarecrow yelled again, his temper waning. _"Why'd you do that? That bitch is hurting us! Do something!"_

"I know just the thing," Crane whispered.

With an even more audible snarl, he clamped his long arms around Amelia's waist and hoisted her into the air. She'd barely taken four steps away from him when this occurred. Due to her lack of preparation for that underhanded move, she cried out both out of being startled and enraged. Frantically struggling, she felt foolish that she kicked at air.

For a man six foot tall and weighing merely 140 pounds (not that much for a man of his stature), he was quite strong. It knocked the wind out of her own five foot four, 109 pound frame.

Crane then put his mouth so close to her ear that Amelia shivered when his lips moved against it. "Calm down, Doctor, and listen to me. I've come personally to ensure you keep your end of the bargain."

"No!" She gritted her teeth, endeavoring not to break down and display weakness in front of him. "If it is what I think it is, why should I tell _you_? You are the last person I would ever-!"

"I'm going to release you," he hissed. "And you will sit down on this couch, relax...And then you tell me everything. Understand?"

_If I act like I'm agreeable (more than agreeable, maybe play at being a good little hostess), I might have a fighting chance. Didn't my defense classes teach me anything? _Amelia strategically thought out, though she could sense her energy floating away from her.

So, she nodded. His large, spidery hands gradually set her down and let go of her waist. She did need to placate herself to the point that she would put on that little play. However, unfortunately, she didn't have that much faith in her acting skills.

"Would you like anything? Coffee? Tea? Milk? I have a few cans of Sprite in there." Amelia glanced over her shoulder at the refrigerator, striding toward the kitchen.

"Just water, thank you," Crane replied.

She could sense him watching her, eyes boring into her back. Maybe he figured she would reach in the fridge and get a drink for herself. After all, all of that shouting and carrying on was already making her throat parched. No, he actually expected her to recall her story scene by scene, zooming in on the juiciest parts. To distract him from ogling at her, she began her roughly orchestrated lie.

"I was sixteen." At least that part was true. "I...You know what? I'll save this for when I'm on the couch."

She didn't need to tell a necessarily drawn-out falsehood. For, at this point, she had carefully removed the rolling pin from one of the drawers, and she turned slowly, concealing it behind her back. One step, two steps, three, four, five, and six...She closed in on him.

"What about my water?" Crane feigned naivete, but she knew his plan.

"To hell with your water!"

Amelia lunged forward with the rolling pin, but he caught it, using it as a lever to pull her to him.

"That was a test! A test you've just failed miserably," Crane spat vitriolically. "Did you honestly believe I'd allow you that? Act like your IQ, Doctor. I offered you one last chance not to attack me. And now, you must face the consequences of your stupidly thought-out actions."

"No! Get away! Let go!" Amelia shouted when he roughly seized her elbows.

As he kept pushing her backwards down the small hall that connected her living area to the bedroom, she thrashed around like a wild animal. She couldn't do it then. She'd failed. Though he had expressed that he required her private high school story, maybe he was after something more.

Else, why would he be in her apartment? That was why she'd yelled and panicked.

"How did you get in anyway?!" she asked shrilly. "I'd locked the door!"

With one hand, he opened the door to the spare closet while the other maintained a tight, unyielding hold on her wrists. His eyes darted back and forth from the closest (cramped enough for Amelia to be slightly discomforted yet large enough to accommodate the two of them) to her face. If he hadn't ailed from such misogynistic tendencies, he could admit to himself once again that she was beautiful. Yet again, she chose to shirk from his expectations; instead of fear, she showed defiance and near-wrath. Her cheeks had flushed from excessive agitation. Her lips close enough to kiss...

"_Cut the BS, Jonathan. We're on a mission, remember?"_

"Right," Crane voiced aloud, causing Amelia to look puzzlingly at him. "I came in through the fire escape. Your bedroom window was unlocked."

She glared down at the blue carpet floor. Of course, he would. Another bad habit of hers involved forgetting to lock _all _the windows whenever she went out of the house. How could she not think to have done that, especially taking that stalker in the Saturn into account?

Before she could retaliate with a waspish insistence for him to leave, he shoved her inside the closet, kicking the door closed behind him as he followed suit. He pressed his back against the door inside, surmising correctly that she wouldn't avoid him as quickly now as she had. She'd always hated it when he'd dodged questions, yet the hypocrite herself had committed the same sly act.

They were two of a kind, but only he had all the bag of tricks. He was the master of both fear and scheming in the end, not her. And he would consistently outwit her as long as she was like this. No discipline over her emotions now whatsoever? Pathetic. Crane had hoped for more of a challenge.

In the meantime, Scarecrow set himself at ease, now that Amelia had sank against the wall, panting out ragged breaths. They simultaneously kept watch over her, regarding her with disappointment that she had used (admittedly) adequate physical prowess in place of her wit, her brains that had helped earn her Ph.D.

Scarecrow broke the silence in Crane's mind by offering up his version of a congratulations. _"Well done, Jonathan, you played her like a fiddle. I got to hand it to you. You abruptly stopped the fight because you sensed that a turbulent Harland is useless to us. Then, she tries to hoodwink you, as predicted, in one last desperate attempt to kick us out. But, you're stronger in mind and body._

"_And now, you see the result. She can barely stand. Ha! Now, next I want you to...GAS AWAY, MY MAN! I love that gas more than all human beings. It would...be such a wonderful climax before her crushing downfall."_

"It would," Crane muttered under his breath, gradually taking the canister of spray from his pocket.

Oh, how he'd longed for this moment ever since she had analytically mentioned on the first day his license revocation. Not to mention her preference to call him "Mr. Crane." And her venomous insults. And her striking features. And her ability to instinctively pick questions that would hit too close to home.

How he despised her! Time to destroy her mind, which was already crippled from her ceaseless fit over him lounging on her couch. Just like a woman to be thus concerned over all things domestic, the home in general. Considering this apartment appeared very dull to him, the doctor had nothing worth meaningful to him. Except, of course, what she had stored in her mind for around ten years...

As he held the toxin canister to her like a knife to her throat, she shuddered, relenting, "Do whatever it is you have planned for me, Crane, and leave. You have humiliated me—managed to do that more—than you have during the interviews. I've been misused and injured more excruciatingly than I care to admit."

Amelia lifted her eyes to his, and to him (and to Scarecrow, too), they looked glazed over. The familiar glint of rebellion lingered, but pain showed through. Such anguish and depression that Crane had witnessed in one other person.

Himself.

"_What? No, wait, what are you doing? Jon!"_

Without hesitating to hide this from this miserable blonde leaning heavily against the wall, he murmured gently to Scarecrow, "My friend, she can relate to us. Maybe not as depraved a background as I have lived, but in a way, she can. I don't need this."

And he carelessly tossed the canister over his shoulder, causing Scarecrow to scream obscenities at him. Crane shrugged indifferently while Amelia realized why he had talked to an invisible presence.

"You're...You're Jonathan now, right? And Scarecrow is...is separate from you?" she inquired, awestruck by her epiphany.

Hesitantly, he nodded. "Correct."

"But...I don't quite comprehend...Oh God." She leaned forward, cradling her head in her hands. "Who was I talking to?"

"Through the sessions?"

Amelia clarified through nodding, her hair falling past her face like a curtain.

"Me to a degree, I suppose. I channel Scarecrow. He resides in my mind for the most part, but whenever I had put on theatrics, that was all him."

Raising her head to look at him, Amelia brushed back her hair from her face, unknowingly enthralling him. "But, you'd still turned out to be, well, you. The experiments when you'd been a psychiatrist..."

Crane smirked, half-sneering, "There has been blood on my hands, yes. It's not as though I am any morally better or cleaner than Scarecrow. I'm quite a repulsive fellow to be around, truthfully."

She frowned, straightening up on the wall and staying as far away from him as she dared. "MPD then?"

"Hm, I wouldn't classify it as Multiple Personality Disorder at all, Doctor." The smirk vanished from his lips. "If so, I as Jonathan wouldn't be aware when Scarecrow emerged. However, the fact of the matter of it is I am...extremely lucid. I allow Scarecrow to guide me through any interactions I may have.

"In short...You...You are the first person I've ever let my guard down around," Crane confessed, aggravated that he had flat-out confessed this.

"_Good job," _Scarecrow mocked. _"Now, go ahead and play it out like some melodramatic romance story. _Wuthering Heights, _Jonathan? How about some fu-."_

"Shhh!" Crane hushed him, and Amelia drew back further into more of a corner in the closet, under her coats.

Trapped in a closet with Crane proved perplexing and horrible to her. Any minute now, he would revert back to Scarecrow. Any minute now...

"_Effing _Titanic_," _Scarecrow finished lamely.

Jonathan gazed at her again, slightly softer and almost more...tender than he would have usually ventured. He tested out unknown, treacherous waters. At least she couldn't see him that well in the dark. Still, he had to seek her out. When he reached out toward her, his fingers grazed her face.

Then, three events happened in frighteningly quick succession. Scarecrow vengefully roared, Crane's grip tightened again, and Amelia began flailing and shouting.

* * *

**A/N: **More Seven Minutes of Heaven with Amelia and Crane coming soon! Just kidding. The interaction between them is way too intense to be referred to as something like a game for teenagers. So, I kind of liked what I did with Jonathan being truer to his actual self around Amelia while still saying, "hey, I'm still bad." But, anyway, what I meant by blood on his hands was the murders of the evil grandma and Sherry to a certain extent. It's implied in canon that he has killed more, so I'm referring to that, too. Though I'd think he started being even more of a sadist post-college like in Batman Begins. That's my theory, and I'm sticking to it. That and Cillian Murphy, of course, awesome.


	20. When Walls Break Down

**A/N: **Hey, guys. Whoa, college is time-consuming, I'll say that. Well, kind of. But, I'm OK, I'm surviving it. XD Anyway, this chapter is epicly long. A lot of things going on, so I wanted to put down many details. And there you go. I can be as prolific in long writing as Stephen King when I want to be.

* * *

**Chapter 19: When Walls Break Down**

"Tell me your horrific, traumatic high school story," Crane purred to a now silent yet nonetheless struggling Amelia. "I have to relish every detail, every miniscule one, for fear to defeat you at last. Terror will grip you, and you'll bow to Scarec—what the bloody hell?!"

She had slapped him across the face to snap him out of it, to coerce him into switching back to Jonathan. That man she was curious to learn more about and not just out of psychiatric instincts. Scarecrow she had become much too acquainted with.

In a return to sadistic form, he spitefully grabbed her wrists and clutched hard onto them as they darkened to a pale pink. More of the tough woman than she had previously been ten minutes ago, Amelia bit her lip to prevent herself screaming. She succeeded, though her bottom lip started to bleed.

"I will give you one of my own." He grinned coldly. "This one concerns the hiring of my man to not only be Arkham's guard but your personal stalker for the past three weeks."

Amelia raised her voice indignantly. "Three weeks?!"

His teeth flashed, and a syringe gloved hand yanked at her loose hair to drag her nearer to him, more intimately. "I told him that at some point in the future, I would deal with you myself. I ordered him to follow you wherever you fancied going to outside your work hours. Fairly mundane locations such as the grocery store and _Starbucks _that one evening. From what I'd heard, it sure sounded like your date had gone abysmally down the tubes. How piteous for you."

Amelia scoffed, ignoring how it felt like Crane had cut off her circulation. "That wasn't a date! My friend wanted me to get to know this guy she'd encountered at…I think it was at Harry's. And for your information, Lyle was dull, sadly so."

Crane's merciless hold on her wrists and hair eased up a little. "Oh, really?"

Snorting dismissively after that comment, he pretended he wasn't interested, though his grip hurt her considerably less. "Regardless…I'd vowed revenge against you and your fiery ways. You got a lot of spunk, I'll grant you that. And it's the type that can lead to your death if you're not wise to tread carefully. So, I'd had him tail you one day back to your apartment, and that's how I knew where to find you. Your life…I was right all along. It is predictable, boring, and you tend to live more in your apartment than actual living…unless dating men with no personality is what that definition entails for you."

He meant to taunt her with her poor dating life, but she did not rush to defend that.

Instead, she stated softly, "I seem to only really attract men with expansive yet lethal personalities. That's why I lean toward the opposite end of the spectrum: guys who are normal and steady."

The hand on her hair slackened, and she jumped when he started to affectionately stroke it. "In other words, you would never consider me."

"I…"

"Admit it! I would never be a suitable match in your eyes."

Incensed that he would insinuate that he was worthless and wouldn't meet up to her standards, Amelia lifted her head abruptly, eyes flashing.

An inner fire burned and radiated in her expressive eyes that proved to Crane that perhaps she did feel something. But, she wouldn't. She would be insane to remotely care for such a wretched, horrid being such as himself. With that on his mind, he retracted his hand from her hair. He exhaled a somewhat shaky breath, slouching against the door.

"_Why? Why is she staring at you like that? She must agree…or maybe not. Let's face it, Jon, she never agrees with you on anything. In those sessions most of the time, you two had bickered like an old married couple. She equals you and me. I would say mostly you, though, considering you're physically existent. All in all, Jonathan, she's your match. Your perfect match."_

Bizarrely, in a strange twist of fate, Jonathan blinked back some stinging in his eyes. No, surely, Scarecrow misled him.

"_Are you kidding me? I am such an overprotective parent over you at the best of times. I have been nothing but honest with you since you first invited me to be in your head. Hell, man, I love you and want what's best for you, even if I'm sick and cynical. I just have a feeling the broad will make you happy, that's all."_

Perhaps he was right.

"_You know I am." _Scarecrow winked.

It was then, after her long, attentive gaze that somehow managed to reach and pierce the remnants of his soul, that Amelia confessed, "I wouldn't say that, Jonathan."

His name again, spoken just as soothingly through her luscious pink lips. To Jonathan, it was like searching for water in a desert, only to find an oasis that stretched for miles. Could he, as a broken man, possibly be desirable for this bright, attractive young woman six years his junior? More or less?

Before he could catch himself appearing this sentimental, he murmured, "Do you mean that sincerely then, Amelia?"

Amelia's heart didn't skip in her throat or jump. It leapt and bounded into her throat. Her stomach flip-flopped but not in a repulsed or nervous way. Lips twitching, she had absolutely no idea if she was going to smile.

He said her name as if it was the only one that mattered out of the billions of names bestowed in the world. A light caress enshrouded it like whenever he'd rattled off on his fear rants. That tone signified appreciation for beauty, gratitude for her being alive. No one could say her name in really quite the same way again.

"First of all, I'm glad you didn't refer to me as Amy," Amelia laughed with a trace of anxiety that he could be manipulating her. "And second"—she sought out his gloved hand, which she then took—"Yes. I can't explain why or how…But, I am…"

"Shh, Amelia." Crane held a finger to her lips. "I hate to cut in like this, but I did come here for a reason."

Withdrawing, she raised a hand to the back of her neck. "Oh, yes. The story. Is there…Is there anything else?"

"No." He brushed some hair out of her face, and his eyes practically glowed in the dark. "I promise I won't hurt you like he did."

As the back of his hand slid away from her face, Amelia caught it and held it close to her cheek. In this dark, rather small closet (then again, she was a bit of a claustrophobe), she needed an anchor to cling to. If she could feel that another human sat nearby, then her loneliness would dissipate.

Meanwhile, Scarecrow pointed out, flabbergasted, "_I think she feels something too, Jon! Maybe you aren't insane, after all…at least when it comes to that."_

"I suppose so," Jonathan muttered again, wondering at this foreign yet entirely invigorating feeling of a woman allowing him to touch her, longing for it even. Just as he yearned for it, perhaps since the very beginning. And so, he permitted her to hold on to his hand for a minute longer before he dropped it.

Amelia sensed a tiny decrease in her body temperature once he did that. Jonathan's hand had felt so exquisite against her skin, so warm. Well, she supposed that she wouldn't put her story off any longer than she had to. Compared to his whole anthology, hers was only an episode in her life, albeit a horrible one that she'd rather not relive.

"I was sixteen and a sophomore," Amelia began, crossing her legs very tightly Indian-style. "Despite my involvement in some extracurricular activities, I wasn't particularly popular or beloved due to my 'overachieving' ways by taking A.P. classes and such. I was voted secretary in Key Club because number one: I was the more known candidate and two: it was a joke, for they thought I'd be suitable as a secretary for a career."

The disgust was evident in her voice. She hadn't appreciated that motive for being elected to that position as a farce. Whatever, that hadn't been the worst of it. Not by a long shot. Venturing a circumspect glance toward Jonathan, she noted that he stayed quiet and frozen still. Not to her knowledge, Scarecrow remained silent as well, listening and hanging on her every word.

"Right. Well, I had my own high school crush that also wasn't rewarding…in the end. His name was (well, still is) Cody Hill. He had shaggy red hair, a bit on the lanky side. He wasn't in anything at all. I liked him, though, despite the obvious lack of ambition in clubs. He was fairly smart, which he rarely tapped into. But, I thought he was kind, sweet, and handsome. All the qualities a vulnerable sixteen-year-old girl dreams about and wishes she could find."

Amelia practically spat this as she clenched her fists. The half-crescent shapes from her fingernails embedded in her skin.

For all her show of resentment toward this purposely long forgotten boy, she heard her voice crack then tremble. "He…Cody asked me one day in English class if we could meet up at lunch. And I foolishly agreed to it, unaware of the consequences of my actions. I followed him to an unused classroom…This would be familiar to you, Jonathan. I understood that part of your story through personal experience. He shut the door. And he smiled warmly, lovingly.

"'Amy,' he told me, taking my hands in his. 'I want you to know that I really like you. I have since freshman year.'

"My heart felt like it would burst. If I died that day, I thought, I would be happy. How I would come to reiterate those words but in a different tone.

"He became my first kiss, that slime. Initially, however, his lips tasted wonderfully. But, then, he…That jackass shoved his tongue into my mouth forcibly and not out of passion but to pacify me. This was when the touching started."

Jonathan couldn't stop himself from cutting in, "Touching?"

"He…He…He fondled me, OK?" Amelia's voice wavered. "He coarsely pressed his hands against my breasts and scoffed, 'Let me guess, B cup? More like a B- cup.' And then he touched an area where he shouldn't have, I'll censor that ugly portion for you. I trust you'll know what I'm speaking of. When Cody did that, I shoved him off me.

"I-It didn't work. He hovered over me, and he brutally pushed his hands up my shirt to unhook my bra. I screamed out of fright before I kicked him in the groin. I-I felt utterly violated, Jonathan.

"Th-Then, he said the worst thing of all. 'There goes my twenty bucks.'

"Twenty bucks for what? This was what I asked. He proceeded to say he had made a bet with a friend of his. I had a reputation as being a supreme prude. The friend would have given him twenty bucks for, as he so nicely put it, 'fucking me'."

Crane just barely managed to stifle a gasp. "What? No…Why?"

Blinking back the stinging, Amelia murmured dolefully, "I don't know. To humiliate me maybe. I didn't scream again. I remember telling him I hated him before running. From there, it's all a blur. I ran home, which lay two and a half blocks away. And I locked myself away in my bedroom to cry. The gravity of the situation hit me. I could have been raped. For cash. Even without that happening, it was still sexual assault."

"_She really does understand us. You still got it with the psychiatry, Jon," _Scarecrow stated wisely yet with uncanny solemnity. _"Instincts definitely kicked in."_

As for Amelia, she curled her knees up to her chest, embracing herself to combat her nerves and despair at bringing this up. She'd never told anyone in detail. Never. The first true time she did, it was to the man who had ridiculed her, playing with her thoughts and emotions.

Yes, she was well aware of the irony. Now, part of her prepared for him to laugh.

Crane (Jonathan, Scarecrow, or whatever, she didn't know any name) must presently see her as a frail, pathetic woman who wasn't that indomitable at all, as much as she liked to come across as to the contrary. Tears streaked down her face, and now she shook from suppressing her crying. The trauma haunted her. A hand landed on her shoulder, making her snap her head up from her knees.

"Did you ever tell anyone? Did you at least tell your parents?" Jonathan asked rather concernedly, something she found quite sweet.

Not knowing how to properly respond, Amelia half-shrugged, half-nodded. "To my parents, in a sense, only I just summarized it. I said that a boy almost raped me at school."

"Did they press charges?"

"They wanted to, believe me. B-But, then I said no, because I'd have to see Cody Hill in court. I couldn't deal with it…T-Too embarrassing. Mom and Dad held back then since they knew I'd suffered enough. B-Because…God, Jonathan, it was humiliating!" she cried out, burying her head against his shoulder impulsively and sobbing.

Stiffening at first, Jonathan didn't know what to think. This woman wept on his shoulder…No one rational and sane would dare to go near him, most certainly not one of the female persuasion.

"_Just hold her, Jonathan, yeesh. She won't bite you," _Scarecrow tut-tutted disapprovingly at him.

And so he did. Awkwardly at first but then closer to strong and supportive.

"Shhh, Amelia, don't. He's not around now. I'm here. Shhh. I know how being subjected to that feels."

"I know." She nestled more against him.

And then realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. Apparently, his normal ensemble consisted of just the mask/hood (like an executioner's except with the tubes), the pants, and the boots. She flushed to the roots of her hair, but it didn't matter. She hurt from the memory, and only he could heal her. He was treating her right for once, not a trace of laughter in a voice that could set a child at ease.

The more tears Amelia wiped away, the more of them fell, tumbling down her cheeks. "It was awful, really, having to fear someone at school every day. He would be there, shooting me dirty looks, while I just wanted to be as far away from him as I could. B-Besides, what would have been the use of pressing charges? There were no other witnesses. And he hadn't raped me, so he would have gotten off on a mere technicality. It would have sickened me to my stomach. I-I couldn't go through with it."

Crane stared at her for a long time before nodding slowly. "I see your point of view. However…In these types of court cases, isn't the jury more sympathetic toward the woman?"

"I couldn't risk seeing him win. He'd already damaged my pride too much. And…And not always. Not always."

It was odd how the dark tapped into more of her vulnerability. Amelia shifted even closer to him until their bodies molded into each other, as if they'd been this intimate in proximity for months. She just needed someone in the dark to give her solace, to shelter her from this downpour of pain rushing back to her, and he happened to play that role.

She added morosely, "And you know what the worst part was? He ended up marrying this rich socialite. And he owns the Gotham baseball team. Where is the justice?"

Jonathan had somehow coiled his arm around her before giving her waist the lightest squeeze. "It doesn't seem fair at all, does it? But, what about you? What became of you?"

Amelia let out a bitter laugh of derision. "I'm crazy, discussing _my _issues with _my _patient…"

"Don't you get it? Everyone has issues, Amelia, including you and me both. We're not excluded from society's abhorrence and lows."

Of course, he'd respond to her shallow complaint as reasonably as he did. Since when did he essentially become a calming force for her?

With a weary, irritated sigh, she summarized, "I wouldn't go near men at all. I'd talk to…Oh, let's face it, I hardly had any opposite sex friends. All the boys at school would point and laugh at my somewhat gangly figure and funny-looking face—"

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with your face."

She ignored the scorching heat in her face and neck. "For the next five years, I insisted on being this way. Then, I had one bedroom experience in college, but the sex was only five minutes long and terrible. It had made me feel like it was Cody Hill all over again with all the repulsively uncomfortable touching. And of course, that good fellow never called me back. I don't remember his name now."

"Hmm…"

Her hands casually slid down to where his were located, on either one of his kneecaps. Gradually, she pushed her hands up to near his elbows. Then, she very cautiously took off his gloves. Jonathan froze but acquiesced to her touch again, even going so far as to let his hands fall limp.

"What?" Amelia asked, noting his contemplative sound.

"I would advise that you take extra care in removing my syringe glove. I wouldn't want you to get pricked with anything."

Scarecrow chuckled. _"How thoughtful of you, Jon. You don't want her affected by what's in those, right?"_

Crane inwardly scolded at his alter ego by telling him to can it.

"No, I meant…What are you thinking?" she whispered, fixing him with an intent gaze. Tried as she did, she couldn't stop her heart pounding.

She was nearly chest to chest with him now, the heat radiating from his body. A lovely musk was what she smelled on him, being this close. And she felt slightly disoriented from this, intoxicated from that scent and his warmth.

Jonathan's exposed lean fingers rested on her jawline. "I've started making some conclusions. For one, you didn't allow anyone to be this remotely close after the incident. Thus, what you call your claustrophobia emerged and became more apparent with time."

Squirming awkwardly, Amelia made to move away, but he kept that light hold on her jawline. "Then, your issue with touching…Well, that would attribute to the uninspiring intercourse you'd had."

"Intercourse? Ha, if you could call it that," she scoffed.

"And third," he murmured in a deeper octave, his kinder voice hypnotizing her. "And third, you keep your distance from men to comfort yourself. By being reserved around them, indifferent, you can never let them into your world. You'd rather lock them out. I suspect androphobia at play here."

_Blame it on an irrational fear, that's it! _she thought in an utterly frustrated frame of mind. What was Jonathan Crane trying to do to her head this time? Break it so that it'd be all his? What a nauseating concept! She had opened up to him, shared a part of her she'd buried long ago, and what did she get in return? A dispassionate diagnosis of a phobia!

Darkened, stormy blue eyes raging into his, Amelia retorted, "Well, a fear of men, huh? Am I that frail to you, Jonathan? That weak that I would develop that phobia? If so, you have gynophobia ten times over!"

She managed to reach up to his mask in an attempt to yank it off, but he began retreating. "Perhaps so. After all, women have negatively interfered with ninety-seven percent of my life, and you are not one of the three percent that haven't."

She obstinately pulled his mask up past his chin. Jonathan reacted by snatching her wrists to gain the upper hand. However, he really didn't want to fight her, not any more.

"Why?" she inquired fiercely. "Why be like this? Hmph, perhaps it's the fear of women and philophobia, too."

"Philophobia? The fear of love?" He dropped her wrists, sitting back on his haunches while she peeled off the rest of his mask. "I'm impressed, Amelia, with your knowledge of phobias. But…It may not be precisely that. Though you must have it, too."

Quite acidic, wasn't he? She removed his mask entirely then, feeling for herself the sensation of his skin on her fingertips. They tingled. Philophobiac she was not…At least as far as she could conclude from how she internally responded to him. Outwardly as well when she started shaking.

"You're sure doing quite a bit of quivering tonight," he pointed out rather sympathetically. "Any reason?"

His husky voice, no longer muffled by the burlap, was by far one of the most pleasant sounds she'd ever heard.

"I can't comprehend you or your motives. You must be afraid of something. What would it be?"

Jonathan skimmed over her before muttering, "Venustraphobia."

The phobia involving beautiful women, interesting. But, wait…Didn't that imply that he could gaze upon her and think she was beautiful? All of a sudden, her heart ached to the point of excruciating agony.

Scooting toward him, she managed to locate his wrist, following it up to his bicep. She gently squeezed, feeling all the power and the strength he possessed. Did he know what his capabilities were?

"How long?"

Jonathan bent his head lower so that his slightly stubbly cheek (yet she could sense that he had indeed shaved recently) lay against hers. "Since the very beginning. I denied its existence then but…Scarecrow was…very much attracted to you physically. He lusted after you. I was fascinated with your mind and how it kept up with mine without lagging. Your intelligence is almost unparalleled."

That compliment he'd just bestowed left her breathless, since it was rare that he would distribute one, especially to her. Coupled with his warm, sweet breath hovering near her cheek, dangerously close to her lips…Amelia let out a content sigh.

"What about you?" he asked softly, thin fingers running through her hair. "How long have you felt it?"

Was this still doctor-patient confidentiality? Out of her work clothes, she certainly did not feel professional any more. The professionalism involved in that clause had been obliterated quite a while ago. Running her fingers through his disheveled hair that she knew to be dark brown, Amelia pondered over what Jonathan looked like. It was rather dim in the closet, so she couldn't make out any one feature. She could possibly affirm that he was handsome but in a quirky, unconventional way.

Her eyes watered, and she backed away once more, holding on to the bottom of a raincoat for support. "It wouldn't be very professional of me to mention how I feel…I can't. You're my patient. I'm not going to be a Harleen Quinzel case. No."

What frightened her most was that she had, over who knew how long in this closet (half an hour or an hour?), become intimate with him. In all aspects: mentally, physically, and emotionally.

As for that infamous situation with Harleen Qunizel falling ineptly in love with the Joker, the woman was virtually never discussed in Arkham anymore because of it. But, Amelia was not about to sacrifice her career for this. No way in hell.

Nonetheless, the tears rolled down as her uncertainty grew. She wasn't accustomed to laying all her emotions bare. Neither was Jonathan, clearly, yet he did it effortlessly around her. Why her?

He lifted his hand to cradle her face, stroking away a few tears. "Harley Quinn, you mean? Hmph, I met her once with the Joker, naturally. But, let me tell you this, Amelia. She doesn't have a fourth of your intellect, an eighth of your empathy, or a sixteenth of your personality."

"Jonathan…"

And then, somehow with the electricity building in the air, she narrowed the space between their lips. "I don't know how long. But, I know I feel it now."

Perhaps it started with the ceaselessly rolling waves of emotions that she had experienced during her conducting each interview. In fact, currently, she trembled from the memory of him being pressed up so close to her. And now, discovering that he might actually care about her…She didn't know what to think.

So, she didn't and kissed him instead.

Jonathan stiffened from shock initially, not sure what to make of this. Was this a tactic to make him go away?

"_Just react. Jeez, do I need to give you pointers?" _Scarecrow snidely asked but was soon disregarded.

Gathering her to his chest, he deepened the kiss, biting at her upper lip. Meanwhile, Amelia clung more tightly to him, drawing back for air before plunging in by crushing her mouth against his. It seemed as though they fought in kissing like they verbally had at Arkham, but it truly wasn't the case. It was out of necessity, hunger for what they hadn't had in so long. They expressed passion, raw and unbridled yet heartbreakingly beautiful.

But, then, Jonathan eased up on fiercely devouring her, kissing Amelia more gently. He placed a hand on her lower back to keep her steady and to console her. She was no Harley Quinn, but he found that a shining quality, for it meant that she didn't have to resort to what he did (or had done). She wouldn't follow him, though maybe it wouldn't change how she felt.

Amelia let her hands fall limp as she experimentally traced the contours of his torso. His abs in particular impressed her. The work-outs he'd alluded to and committed himself to had paid off.

When she brought her hands up to his face, she padded it to create a composite image of him in her mind. He had a long, narrow nose, well-defined cheekbones, and a square chin. Not much she could conclude out of that. She went to turn the light on when Jonathan lightly grasped her wrist.

"Why ruin the mystery, Amelia?" he inquired curiously but also seductively.

Thrilling to the many ways in which he touched her, she leaned toward him and whispered conspiratorially in his ear, "Because I want to remember this. I want to remember you."

"You can accomplish that without a glimpse of my hideous face," he commented self-deprecatingly.

Contradicting himself, he released her wrist, and she pressed the light switch.

He really was as handsome as she figured him to be. Over the years, he'd matured into these looks that would have once been considered odd. He had a narrow face and a skinny neck, but they worked well for him. And those eyes were even more captivating without the burlap. Amelia felt as though she drowned in a sea of blue.

With a smile, she took him in and approved (loved) what she saw.

"Your looks are rather on the quirky side but"—she shrugged—"It doesn't matter. You're beautiful."

"As are you." His voice lowered again.

"Why? Do I resemble Sherry in any way?"

Jonathan snorted. "No. Her eyes were paler, watery, not to mention more vacant. Ugliest shade of blue I've ever seen. But, you're different in appearance and personality. I admire that."

His lips brushed her temple. Everything he did to her presently fascinated her. This was a man she desired to make love with. Jonathan knew how to ensnare her in the most sensual ways. For now, though, sex was the last thing on her mind. It could wait, and she needed some sleep due to the rambunctious fight she'd put up earlier. It had been too physically draining.

When she was about to open the closet door, he stopped her to insist, "Stay."

"All right, but you leave eventually," Amelia told him firmly, though there was a trace of an amused sparkle in her eyes.

She ended up curling up against him and falling asleep. While he visibly smiled and remained in that closet until she was deep in sleep and in happy dreams as opposed to traumatizing nightmares.

* * *

**A/N: **Aw, I couldn't resist! Anyway, a few random things. For one, the character's name of Cody is a dig at a guy who ended up being stupid to me. That's what writing is good for: an outlet to satisfy your urge to insult some stupid person. At least I use it in that way sometimes. And then, his last name of Hill was admittedly me thinking about the real-life person Henry Hill, portrayed in Goodfellas. I love that movie for some reason, and I'm not a gangster flick watcher.

You think this would be the end? It's not, but I'm getting close, guys. One more chapter and an epilogue, and that's it! That was all I had planned pretty much. I'm usually someone who plans out a story rather early, and it tends to be set in stone, most definitely at this point of the story, the toward-the-end part. I tend to be rather unshakeable in my opinion when it comes to that.

Oh, sorry for the f-bomb. But, this was a pretty lousy character who said it, according to Amelia's memory, and from the same person who had _sexually assaulted_ her! Not cool. But, the reason Cody Hill didn't get karmic justice by getting run over by a car is because, sadly, sometimes those crappy people end up doing well. I mean the crappy people in high school at least. But yeah, I'll stop this rant.

By the way, part of this chapter was typed up to, funnily enough, "Jonathan" by Fiona Apple off her newest album, and that song was just OK. The romantic parts were written to "Pale September" also by Fiona Apple, which is off her way better 90's album Tidal. And that song is really good, it's like their song. :D


	21. Recruiting in the Name of Fear

**A/N: ****All right, guys, so I had a scary virus experience this weekend, but the computer's OK, that's the good news. Only thing, though...Getting it was the result of me doing something incredibly stupid by visiting these sites I'd been seeing the past couple months. Never going near them again, guess I'll have to rent movies like a normal person, let's just leave it at that. But, ANYWAY, the end of this story is coming so close, I can almost taste it. Almost as much as college homework. -_- Nah, whatever, I think you guys will find this chapter...interesting.**

* * *

**Chapter 20: Recruiting in the Name of Fear**

When Amelia Harland locked her Civic in the parking lot on Monday morning, she curiously glanced around for any sign of a bright red Saturn. None was located in her line of vision. And so, she concluded that Crane no longer had a use for him, now that he knew certain facts about her that he'd keep secret. Hopefully, he would carry her story to his grave.

However, now that her series of Scarecrow/Jonathan Crane interviews had come to an abrupt halt, she found herself at a crossroads. This was probably totally demented (to her at least), but she had a void that needed filled in some way.

Yes…When she woke up on Saturday morning, discovering that he had obligingly left as she'd asked, Amelia felt somehow let down. If there had ever been a more opportune time for him to defy her wishes, that late night into morning would have been it. She could have gone disgustingly sentimental, bordering on saccharine, on him by fixing him a hearty breakfast. As a manageable, passable cook, she could have treated him to that. And they would chat blandly over the Saturday paper with bacon and eggs with cups of coffee (hers with a generous amount of cream, his…who knew?). Like what? Normal, civilized people? That surely was not Crane's way, thus his early morning departure. Perhaps he'd crept back down the fire escape as previously as midnight on that night.

All she knew was that now that he had quietly moved out of her life, she would most likely never see or encounter him again. Unless it was in _The Gotham Daily_ for some atrocious crime he'd committed, if that counted.

The most startling part was that she remained uncertain if she could resign to that fate, now that she'd seen a side to Jonathan that she had never expected. But, again, she didn't know if he'd been manipulating her, using her as a ploy for something he had in mind for later.

_ But, he kissed me like he meant it. So much fervor…That's never happened with any man, _she reflected pensively.

It was undeniably true, almost to the point that it quite unnerved her. She couldn't help it, though, couldn't resist the power of temptation he had exuded over her. They had clicked that night in a way that she'd never sensed with another man, not like this. Last night, as cliché as this inevitability was, she had _dreamed _about him. It had been sensual, breathtakingly so, and she had ached for more. All she could recall lately was his husky, tender voice and those soft lips that had caused her to respond to him. To actually respond and yield to his desires.

The rational side of Amelia found it bizarre that it seemed as though Jonathan had exhibited longing for something apart from fear. He had acted like he'd wanted her, wanted nothing more than to passionately kiss and caress her.

However, what shook her most to her core was that she'd fantasized about having sex with this man. Sex? Was she insane?

And yet, she couldn't deny it. They equaled each other so perfectly that maybe a mutual attraction existed. After all, one couldn't help magnetism with another if it was truly there, right?

Amelia trembled the slightest bit, not out of nerves but out of this exhilarating high that she got when musing over him. Why would she feel this way? It didn't matter. No, not at all. Jonathan only improved with confusing her, threatening to gas her one minute and kissing her senseless the next, devouring her. He had managed to pierce her soul when, again, no other man could.

"Damn it, Harland, think logically," she muttered to herself during her walk to Intensive Treatment. "Jonathan only did that to avert your attention from his next big plan. It's manipulation. That whole night was manipulation."

Really? What about all that touching, exploring each other's bodies promiscuously but not outright sexually? Oh, she didn't know. In the end, Jonathan had left her with more questions than answers. What had been his motives for her that night?

On second thought, she would be adamant about not making love to or with him. No matter how much she privately yearned for it…It could never happen. First of all, their professions contrasted to the extent that she would seem like an utterly blind fool to remotely consider this. And secondly, he was her patient! It was no better than a student-teacher romance. She should be exceedingly sickened by this notion that a doctor could possibly fall for her patient and vice versa. It was almost like in the process, she would be corrupting his mind further, leading him on with false pretenses. Or were they really that false…?

Luckily, Cate waved to her from her usual parking spot, so Amelia finally had some time for a bit of casual conversation, a refuge from her Jonathan ponderings.

What wasn't so fortuitous was what her close friend and colleague had to say. "Hey, Amelia. I heard about what happened on Friday. Well, I'd heard about it earlier than that, but I forgot to talk to you about it. I bet you're relieved, huh?"

Relieved…Well, Amelia definitely had felt that way at one point, glad to be rid of the man with the sardonic remarks and too penetrating blue eyes. But, that was before he demonstrated his ability to listen well and before he made out (to put it bluntly) with her enough to rock her world.

She feigned a smile. "Yeah, I sure am."

"Why do you think he escaped anyway?" Cate inquired, her interest obviously piqued at this. "Did you do something to him that drove him out? Used some method he disliked?"

"I haven't the foggiest idea." Amelia shrugged. "I'd carried on that Wednesday session as normal. No outbursts from him, nothing that would have pointed to his desire to break out of Arkham. In fact, it was one of our more subdued sessions."

She felt like she revealed too much already. She didn't want to expose what he told her. Not only because of the clause she had to follow with every patient but because she cared about him to a degree. Not in such a full-fledged manner that she…that she felt a certain emotion, no…no, not really. Just that she had no intention of carelessly discussing his childhood with anybody else…She was still impressed with him that he'd accomplished that much.

Cate politely "hmmed" before replying, "I guess he was just biding his time until he could break out. It would have looked too conspicuous if he'd broken out immediately after his arrest, say."

"True…Oh well, I wouldn't know. All I know is I don't have to deal with him any more."

It was strange, though, how he'd fled Arkham without gassing or injecting her with his toxin that came in both forms. Didn't he love an excuse to launch a weaponized version of his trademark invention? Apparently, not with her.

"Yeah, I hear you," Cate mentioned as they walked into Intensive Treatment. "Scarecrow is one of the most intimidating criminals among those rogues. And no, not because of his fear complex. But that he used to be one of us, working on our side. I never understood why he sacrificed his career and pursued trying to make everyone in Gotham afraid of him."

Unconsciously, Amelia murmured ruefully, "'It is better to be feared than loved'."

"Mm, what's that?"

"Never mind, Cate. I agree with your statements. Well, it looks like my scheduled appointment won't be until eleven today."

And the main problem with that was that it wouldn't involve a learned patient who could come up with sharp rebuttals in a debate. It would be someone who had robbed a jewelry store due to the voices in his head demanding him to. And that was actually a shame. No challenge, no wit from someone like that in comparison to Crane.

Why did she keep referring to him as Crane in her mind? After Friday night, after them being so personal, they had gone above and beyond last name basis. Amelia could vividly remember how their bodies had fit against each other like interlocking puzzle pieces, how the heat of his body had cut through the rather thin fabric of her shirt.

Jonathan…Her tempter, her seducer, and her nuisance had a name. Jonathan…

She missed him already.

* * *

Thus, Amelia came home that night, somewhat restless and dissatisfied with the work she'd accomplished at Arkham earlier that day. Her session with the schizophrenic thief had gone as well as could be expected. He hadn't been too keen on talking with her, as the voices in his head had advised him earlier that she would serve as a troubling obstacle. Indeed, they allegedly called her a witch. It had taken all her calming words to settle him and assure him that she would turn the deceptive voices into more reasoned, positive ones in his head.

Though the man suffered from this near-polarizing mental illness, he hadn't acted aggressively toward her. No, the poor fellow seemed timid, afraid of both himself and her.

Still, on her drive home, Amelia couldn't resist letting her thoughts stray to Jonathan and how he'd combatted with her. He could counterargue with the best of them, also proving how adeptly his mind worked. These logical, scholarly thoughts would come to the surface a mile a minute. He was incredible, the paradigm of a complex, intriguing patient. All others after him paled in comparison.

Not to mention he kissed well, his body felt good, and his scent reminded her of something cherished she'd known for years, whatever it was. It didn't matter, really, because she sensed a general familiarity with him, as if she'd known him her whole life. Or at least should have.

But, no, he was gone now and probably would stay out of her life. Maybe he was aware too that it would be the most beneficial to them. Carrying on his life of infamy, he would pretend that nothing ever happened with her. Likewise, she would cut all emotional ties she had with him and manage to type her carefully detailed, unbiased report that she would cumulate from all her data. It was better off that they did just that, moving on with their lives and drifting away from each other.

When Amelia later went to bed with one last stroking of Persephone's back, she sighed in the knowledge of how sad this was. Somehow, unexplainably, Jonathan had convinced her that it was acceptable to full-heartedly trust a man again. Why he, of all people, should be the one she couldn't quite figure out.

As she stared up at the ceiling, her eyelids drooping closed, Amelia whispered, "Jonathan," into the room, as if he would appear right then and there.

Idiotically, she wished he would. He had made her feel like such a desirable woman…

At around two o'clock in the morning, she awakened with a chill. No matter how much she squirmed around in her bed, pulling her comforter steadily closer and more tightly to her, she couldn't get very warm. She opened her bleary eyes, only to discover that the bedroom window had been opened, letting in that cool air.

There could only be one reason. Part of her had actually acquiesced to leave that particular window unlocked in the event that he…No, she would much rather chalk it up to her inept forgetfulness, one of her several weaknesses. She wouldn't just leave a window purposely unlocked. That would be ludicrous.

Regardless of whatever motive she had in allowing an intruder easy access, Amelia got up and shut the window. Since she was only in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants, she was actually quite cold afterwards. She rubbed her arms the short time it took for her to traverse that small connecting hallway. And then, seeing a face she recognized so well, hidden enigmatically behind burlap again.

Jonathan lounged on her couch, his fingers lethargically tapping on an arm. And Amelia couldn't exactly ignore his blue eyes that could be solely his as they lit up once they flitted onto her. The cross between a smirk and smile danced across his lips…his lush, velvety lips…

One component was missing, one that would drive her deliriously mad and yet weaken her knees.

"Hello, Amelia. I notice you look more ravishing disheveled and unglamorous than in a spiffy outfit and cosmetics."

Yes, that was it, his voice. His voice held charismatic reign over her with its smooth, beautiful quality. She stood frozen, this time entranced.

That less hostile smirk widened as he remarked dryly, "This is already going considerably better than last time. You haven't screamed at me to get out of your home, the same home I broke into the same, exact way. Are you not the slightest bit angry with me?"

How could Amelia be so filled with ire when she heard the sound of his voice? She suppressed her eager trembling since she still possessed her dignity.

However, she spoke honestly, "No, far from it. I…I can't believe it, though. You…You came back."

Jonathan chuckled. "Of course I did, Amelia. Who else but you would want me around? Hmph, even if I do turn up unannounced and uninvited…"

For someone who loathed Gotham and embittered with the state of his life, he was uncannily gentle in his clever humor. It was so much more amiable than usual that she couldn't stop the smile overtaking her face.

In response, she laughed slightly. "You got me, Jonathan. I guess I did miss you. But, you'll never hear me say that again, so treasure it while it lasts."

Quite relaxed, he settled further into the couch. "What a shame. I thought you would be shedding tears of joy over my return."

"Why did you come back anyway?" Amelia asked curiously. "You broke out of the facility, you're no longer seeing me at work, so therefore there's no reason for…for something like this to happen…"

Her shoulders that she'd held straight back slumped upon this conclusion. Why should she take pleasure in seeing Jonathan again? Aside from the fact that he had slyly invaded her apartment, this wasn't supposed to happen. Their paths diverged, didn't he see that? He could never visit her again or speak with her or even look at her. As long as he kept up the guise of Scarecrow, a man who mercilessly gassed people with his potentially lethal toxin, she could not fathom that idea.

He had to let her go. There was no way around it.

All traces of the vaguely joking, playful smirk vanished, and a frown took precedence on his lips. "Ah, I see this won't be a blissful reunion, after all. Do you disappoint my expectations intentionally?"

Amelia felt her heart sink, conscious of the grim turn their conversation had taken. "I just have this suspicion that you're here on pretense. A motive dragged you back here for some reason."

"Now that you put it that way, it did," Jonathan stated lowly but firmly. "Mind you, I normally don't allow impulses to make my decisions, but an epiphany occurred to me tonight. And I knew I had to go to you. Indeed, you're the exact one I've been searching for. Only you can be a part of my world. Frankly, you know too much about me already not to be involved."

Here she thought that only the Riddler talked in this manner. However, Amelia wondered if her growing hunch could be proven true.

So, she decided to humor him. "What are you implying?"

He told her that he meant for her to be the sole person in his world (apparently, Scarecrow didn't count as a person but an entity), so whatever she would hear next couldn't possibly entail good things.

His gaze appeared to be an eerie combination of cold and heated. "I have been contemplating for you to join me. Join me…as my Mistress of Fear."

What? This comment sent her reeling. How could he proposition her with something like that? For, she had a fairly accurate idea as to what he meant.

Jonathan seemed perfectly solemn when he then stretched out a hand toward her. Clearly grasping at straws, he was willing to offer her a deal, one she could never accept.

"I don't make these offers lightly, Amelia," he murmured, his tone matching his ardent eyes. "Indeed, I have suggested it to one other person. Of course, I should have known she wouldn't take advantage of it. But, she'd been through experiences similar to mine. She ended up testifying against me in court after one of my attempts to ruin Gotham. Brave of her, showing that much audacity…"

Now, Jonathan evidently was starting to talk like the Riddler, and that slightly unnerved her. However, she could solve this one as well.

"You're referring to Rebecca Albright, aren't you?" She stiffened, straightening herself up so that she towered over his sitting form. "That managed to land a spot on the six o'clock news, if I remember correctly."

He glanced out the window as though that memory perched right there, watching him. His eyes wandered as he drifted off toward territory he'd once been familiar with, when he had come upon that girl. Well, that young college co-ed, but did it matter? Readily, he could call to the forefront of his mind her svelte figure and her curly red hair…though nothing compared to dear Dr. Harland's sleek blonde tresses and slim build, of course.

Finally, after a minute, he responded slowly, "Yes…Plucky Becky, they called her, just because she could devastate me in court. Not that I lasted long in Arkham _that _time, of course, but they keep assuming I'll reform there. Hmph, fools…Regardless, Becky was interesting to me. She was bullied too when she was younger, ignored at college as well. She told me this when I attempted to bond with her. I was so close too, ensnaring her very gradually until I got to a certain point, I'd crossed the line too far to suit her. Then again, fashioning a costume for her was probably not the most intelligent thing I've ever done. Best-laid plans, though…She could have said yes."

_Looks like history is about to repeat itself, _Amelia thought bitterly.

No way could she resign herself to a fate that entwined with his. If it concerned the too real chance of her getting locked up, never. If it was regarding her having to watch Gotham scream itself apart, never. No. She was nothing like him. When would Jonathan realize that?

Crossing her arms, she sniffed. "She meant a lot to you then?"

Out of all words for her to say, and she had to utter those? She inwardly groaned. No better than a jealous, possessive woman, was she?

With his manner of penetrating people's defenses, he picked up on her connotation as he sat up more. "In hindsight, no, not really. She was valuable to me in the sense it marked the first time someone could remotely understand me. And I mean that she'd been provoked before, the same as I. Our paths happened to diverge after that wretched court case. She gained a semblance of popularity, and I was left alone again with no one to break through to me."

Jonathan's eyes glowed like iridescent lights when on her next. "But, here you were, someone who related to me more. You even had many of the same defenses I had. Becky's intelligence proved to be a little above average at best. As for you…Well, would it be too forward of me to say I find you brilliant?"

Why was he saying all these wonderful words? They comprised such romantic poetry that she couldn't detect elsewhere, even in a Browning poem. Her heart pounded tenaciously in her chest, with no regard to her thoughts that insisted to flee. Why did she allow him in the apartment anyway? She needed to shoo him away and pronto.

Instead, Amelia crossed her arms more tightly. "Funny. I thought you hated my methods, what with the way you nit-picked them practically the whole time you were there."

"Do you know how naïve you can be sometimes, Amelia?" And in inquiring this, he spoke this quite fondly. "I would never have confessed to my deepest desires, my innermost wishes, let alone such a trifle as that around you. Your methods were on my level. A mind such as yours is a gem in itself. It happens to be a bonus when it is behind such beauty."

Idly, with his lean fingers, Jonathan traced the curve of her jawline, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She trembled again like she had earlier that day, when she had wondered what making love to him would feel like.

Grasping his hand before he dropped it, Amelia held it there, close to her face. Then, their fingers intertwined.

"Join me," he whispered hypnotically, drawing her in inadvertently (or perhaps it was purposefully) with his touch and his silky voice. "I could use someone like you. You, my Mistress of Fear…"

Sure, he'd proven that he had a hidden talent for alluringly seductive persuasion, but this was too much. Sensing the wrongness of this, Amelia took half a step back from him but was reluctant to shirk away entirely from his fingers.

"I can't, Jonathan. You know that as much as I do. I—"

"No." His whisper turned harsher, raspier. "We are equals meant to embark on this voyage together, one filled with horror. You know that deep down, don't you?"

In spite of the change in voice, she was startled to find that his blue eyes, normally not that emotional, outright pleaded with her to agree with him. How miserable was this? So forsaken and alone for so long that he now turned to her to provide what he sought out. As much as she longed for him, ached in her heart and soul to be with him, Amelia knew this wasn't the way. He would have her carry out his bidding, whatever it took to intimidate all of Gotham. Adamantly, she refused to do that. Her career lagged for no man.

"Jonathan." Her voice shook nonetheless. "Please. You can't ask this of me. I have my career. I have my friends and family. To join you would be to give all of them up. And that's too much of a gamble."

His eyes bled pain once she told him this, as if this was the final blow that convinced him she meant it. She would not be alongside him for his plans, his ruthless deeds. As much as she hated to cause him anguish, she didn't aim for her life heading downhill. That was what would happen if she involved herself with one of the more threatening Arkham criminals.

Amelia struggled to hold back tears while Jonathan let his hand hang limp.

"Then, you leave me no other choice," he told her, his syringe glove hovering over her neck.

"_Ha, I knew you had it in you!" _Scarecrow rooted for him. _"Go ahead, Jon, old buddy. Give it to her!"_

And he injected her using one of his needles.

Just before Amelia lost consciousness, she saw the luminous eyes begging her again, this time to accept his unspoken apology. One he probably would never say…

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**A/N: Hopefully, those of you who like Becky Albright won't be too offended by what I had Jonathan offer Amelia. But, hmm...Looks like I lied. Looks like after this, there will be for sure one more chapter and an epilogue. Originally, this was just going to be one chapter, but now it looks like it'll be a two-parter! Exciting! What an intense chapter this was. And I love ending things on cliffhangers, just saying.**

**Oh, one more thing, inspiration for this chapter happened to be "Join Me in Death" by HIM. I don't know. I just decided listening to it would provide the extra kick of inspiration I needed. But, instead of "join me in death", it's more like "join me in fear" in this case...**


	22. When the Dust Settles

**A/N: ****Ah, last chapter, you guys! I'm excited yet sad. This is going to be the one before the epilogue, and then, that's it. Make of this story what you will. If you're disappointed in it, there are many other Scarecrow fics out there to enjoy. I know, I've read quite a few of them. "Where is the Edge?" is a particular fave of mine at the moment. Anyway, here's where we left off...**

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**Chapter 21: When the Dust Settles**

Jonathan caught Amelia's crumpling body before she hit the floor, inhaling an abrupt breath. He could not believe what he'd just done. After the last time, when she'd kissed him as lovingly as he'd craved, he had sworn an oath to himself not to do anything like this to her. And he broke it.

_"Yeah, well, who would have expected_ you _to keep a promise, even to yourself?"_ Scarecrow gloatingly asked. _"Exactly. And don't worry so much over the broad, Jon. She's not dead, is she? What did you give her anyway?"_

"Sedative."

_"What?! No toxin?!" _This infuriated Scarecrow to say the least. _"I thought you always had that in the needles!"_

"Two needles contain sedative, the rest of them toxin," Jonathan admitted, lowering himself so that he could hoist Amelia up.

_"You pussy-ass m—!"_

Growing increasingly weary with his Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde complex, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes, I know. Curse at me all you want, Scarecrow. I was hesitant to inject her with anything. So, I bluffed. I bluffed because I will not stand to have Amelia hijacked by the toxin's effects."

Since when would Jonathan preserve someone like her by not "medicating" her? It was quite a departure from how he used to be.

_"Used to be? You still are, Jon. I told you to do this, and you did."_

Jonathan pursed his lips as he carried Amelia to her bedroom. "That much is true, but it wasn't in the way you expected. I managed to have my say just in time."

_ "Oh, by giving her the sedative, I suppose. You know I wanted revenge as soon as she rejected us."_

Struggling to keep his temper intact, Jonathan hissed, "She didn't reject us. She just so happens to have morals. Let's face it, Scarecrow, the both of us have been secretly longing for human companionship for a while. We were desperate for her to join us. Now, leave me alone. There's something I must do alone. Without you."

This finally cowed Scarecrow who, if visible, would have paled several shades to paper white. _"Jon, I don't understand. Why would you get rid of me even for a second? I'm the one who protects you."_

"And look what that's led to." Jonathan glanced down at the woman in his arms. "I'm fortunate in that I used the sedative I stole from the asylum instead. I should have known you would try something when she said no to the offer. You don't care about her at all."

_"That's not…entirely true…"_

And Scarecrow withdrew, chagrined, almost…afraid? Odd. Never before would Jonathan have ventured to describe his alter ego as that. It was the total antithesis of how he acted most of the time. When it came to Amelia, though, it suddenly was as though he was a different person. His behavior became erratic, more so than normal.

He reached her bedroom after his little chat with Scarecrow, glancing around its contents. There was nothing much in there, really, showing that Amelia at least lived within her means. When he had been Dr. Crane, the practicing psychiatrist, he had lived like this, too. Oh, he would treat himself to an expensive suit every now and again, but he was never extravagant. After all this time, he still remembered what it was to be impoverished, with hardly any food to eat.

The unimaginable cruelty he'd suffered from just those aspects alone would always stick with him. No matter what happened.

Treating her as though she could break if he just dropped her, Jonathan set Amelia gently down on the bed. Despite the knowledge that he'd knocked her out cold, he couldn't resist smiling the tiniest bit at how angelic she looked while she slept.

If only he could see her like this in more suitable circumstances, like every night after hours of…

He couldn't bear the temperature all of a sudden, so he ripped off his mask viciously. His gloves went the same careless way. This wasn't wholly gratuitous, as he wanted to ensure that Scarecrow kept his distance even more. He wouldn't hear what snide comment he had to say regarding that thought.

He proceeded to study her face, every curve of it. Her lips especially stood out to him, pale pink and somewhat pouty. The planes of her face, though narrow, flattered her. Even though people wouldn't say that she had traits of classical beauty, he appreciated her appearance all the more for being unconventional. As long as she looked stunning to him, what other people thought was irrelevant.

Seized by a desire to be nearer to her, Jonathan cautiously settled down on the bed beside her. He lightly took a strand of her hair and let it slide through his fingers. Such lovely hair she had, not really a platinum blonde but more like a pale blonde, simplistic yet fitting.

Then, miraculously, Amelia stirred and slurred out, "Jonathan…"

He reassuringly placed an arm under her shoulders, murmuring, "I'm here."

With a shadow of a smile, she sighed before fading back to her medicated sleep. She received a relatively low amount of sedative, so it wasn't as though it would harm her. Still, he regretted what he did, honestly.

Pulling her close to him, he admitted, "I didn't want to follow through with Scarecrow's request. If he had controlled me more, exerted his power over me, then you would have gotten raw liquid toxin. I managed to hold him off but barely. I'll never subject you to anything like this again. I can't, really, not when my heart isn't in it."

Not that his heart was in it to begin with, but he had shoved his emotions away from him at the time. All he'd focused obsessively on was his goal to humiliate Amelia as much as possible. However, after last Friday night, how could he dream of doing anything to her now? She'd poured her heart out to him, he'd listened, and they had allowed concealed emotions to float to the surface.

"It's better you're unconscious at the moment. You wouldn't believe half of my confessions." Jonathan embraced her, sensing her heart beat in time with his.

"I knew you would turn down becoming Mistress of Fear. As twisted as this is, I partially hoped you would spurn it. The fact that you won't turn your back on your career or the people in your life speaks for itself. You're a noble woman, Amelia. What you did tonight made you all the more admirable to me. Not even Becky stood up to me as well as you did. You would try being one step ahead of me, so that I couldn't claim victory. In the end, you've won."

Jonathan picked up her forgotten comforter on the floor, draping it over her. One of the few kind acts he could say he did. Being close to Amelia made him feel closer to human, something that would have revolted Scarecrow.

Jonathan sighed out shakily, nervously running his fingers through his disheveled dark hair. "I only wish I could have met you sooner. Perhaps I would have found a more constructive way to channel my grief and anger. If our paths had crossed earlier in my life, there might have been a chance. For, you are my ideal."

He caressed her face. "You cared. You didn't just listen to my story, make your conclusions, and privately believe I deserved any of my misfortune. No, on the contrary, you empathized. You appreciated how I'd been a phoenix rising out of the ashes after my childhood abuse. Of course, I ultimately annihilated that progress through what I thought was my life's true calling. Now…It is difficult to tell what it is any more."

Melancholy swept through Jonathan as he continued stroking Amelia's hair and bestowing her with tender touches overall. He mourned again. The last time, it had been because of the confirmation that that worthless Karen Crane, his own mother, lived contently without him. And she couldn't care less that her son would forever remain severed from her. This time, he mourned because he knew how this would end. He would have to be separated from Amelia due to her strong ties with her Arkham career. And he couldn't keep breaking in either. Sooner or later, having a relationship with his psychiatrist would catch up with him.

Ironic, how the one woman who matched him, could argue superbly with him, would be the one he couldn't go near again. Somehow, it hurt. They were equals down to their subtleties. More in common than what met the eye, if one deliberately looked past the fact that she was an upstanding psychiatrist and he, her troubled patient. There was certainly more to it than that.

He kissed her forehead. "Amelia, you are extraordinary. I spontaneously researched the meaning of your name the other day. It means 'strain' or 'work', somewhere along those lines. Quite comical, really"—he chuckled wanly—"As you have dedicated yourself to your work. But, whatever you do, don't end up like me. If you haven't heard any of my rambling at all, I hope you subconsciously hear this much. You see, I worked hard at my job too before I became too tempted to experiment on humans. But, I never lived. I didn't know how to…"

Leaning toward her ear, he whispered emphatically, "But, you do. You're a beautiful woman with family and friends. When I vitriolically remarked in that one session about how I presumed you shut yourself away outside of work, I suppressed jealousy at what you have. You have people, a support system, something I never had. Learn from my mistakes. Don't be too reserved. Don't let anyone stop you. Just let your true self shine through, and I know you'll accomplish even greater things."

Good thing he temporarily drove Scarecrow away; he would have shuddered to hear these words from him. For, this was the closest he'd essentially come to saying "I love you" to her.

"I want to be with you, but I can't. I'm too flawed, too damaged. The only way for us to be together was for you to join me."

With that final admittance, Jonathan leaned down further until his lips chastely brushed hers. "Goodbye, Amelia."

And not even five minutes later, he went back down via the fire escape.

* * *

Walking in a dark alleyway at night fazed Jonathan very little. As he was Scarecrow by night predominantly, everyone from petty thieves to the mob knew not to trifle with him. He was the man who could make their worst fears come alive, after all, even when they weren't really there. Traversing Gotham's seediest areas posed no hazards to him. Next to the Joker, he had this city in the palm of his hand.

"You can come out now, Scarecrow."

Hence, Scarecrow emerged. _"Missed me, did you? How was being alone with your precious doctor?"_

"She said my name," he said softly.

_"You mean _my_—"_

"No, mine. Jonathan."

_"Ohhh…"_

Jonathan stared at the ground as he walked, his eyes trained on yellowed scraps of newspaper and empty beer cans scattered about this filthy stretch. Why did he care that she drowsily mumbled his name in her drugged sleep? It meant nothing, bittersweet that she would not be with him as he went about his tasks.

Perhaps she didn't want to witness him and his ongoing attempts to put this ugly city in total anarchy. She wouldn't be able to stomach it due to her sympathy for what she would consider innocent people. Too soft-hearted for the job…

But, it wouldn't have involved all that constantly. They would have shared a home together—he had a loft. It wasn't like he was homeless. And they could have their cozy nights settled in, having spirited debates over anything.

Jonathan muttered acerbically, "That will never happen now."

_"What? Why? Can't you just kidnap her?"_ Scarecrow questioned, naturally bringing up illegal means to that end.

Jonathan vehemently shook his head. "It's not that simple. I value her too much to force her to do anything. She opened her heart to me. To _me_. No one has ever done that before."

Scarecrow breathed out a long sigh. _"Will we still proceed with the toxin airplane plan? It would make the most logical sense to infect Gotham with fear that way. They breathe in that polluted oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide in several short bursts, that's how truly frightened they'll be."_

"I-I don't know." Jonathan kicked at a beer can to vent on it for all the conflict that built up inside him. "I have contemplated it on many occasions over this past week. It doesn't take a series of calculations to arrive at this result: if the whole city gets toxin like they would any other airborne pathogen, then Amelia will catch it, too. And…And I wouldn't be able to predict when—there's no telling when. I wouldn't be able to give her the antidote in time and she…she will be driven mad permanently."

Very slightly, almost imperceptibly, his hands quivered, and he placed his face into them to placate his anxiety. He cared for her, no other way around it.

_"So? Why spare her? Gas everyone else and put her in a bubble? What the hell do you want us to do, Jon?!"_

"I don't know!" he repeated in an agonized scream. "I suppose it will be damn everyone else as long as she's safe! She's all that matters to me!"

They gasped in unison.

Scarecrow faltered before boldly stating, _"You're in love with her."_

Jonathan said nothing, merely clenching and unclenching his fists.

_"Hey…I'm actually not that offended by it. I know I've spent my life here steering you away from every single person and teaching you to be misanthropic. I confess to contradicting myself by advising you to let Amelia in but not allowing her to cross over your boundaries. But, I've harbored an affection for her too, Jon. You're not in the wrong for feeling what you do for her. I personally would hate to see her twitch and flinch and scream because of you. Because of us."_

Nodding, Jonathan agreed to it numbly.

_"Woman has spunk, I'll give her that. Not to mention she is by far one of the best people we've ever met. She's kind. She cares…You're right, Jon."_

Jonathan walked faster down the alley, turning a corner to go on up the street.

"Thank you, Scarecrow. This changes nothing, however. I still turned out to be a criminal. I cannot be redeemed through any means."

_"Really? So, does that mean you're still on for the plan?" _Scarecrow asked yet didn't sound as impassioned as he had been, lacking in enthusiasm.

"We'll see," Jonathan replied vaguely.

_"OK."_

They didn't speak the rest of the way home, each half lost in thought.

* * *

When Amelia awakened from the hazy fog of her drug-induced sleep the next morning, she couldn't fathom the events from the previous night. In a struggle to return to coherency, she gripped her head, her fingers knotting in her hair. All right, she'd seen Jonathan again, which made her heart skip a beat and her spirits brighten. Maybe because she'd innately assumed that they would have a normal conversation. But, then, he'd tried recruiting her as…what? Mistress of Fear, wasn't that the term he used?

And then she'd said no, even though that would have been an excuse to be with him. After that, she'd…she'd felt a pricking at the back of her neck.

Jonathan had used his syringe glove on her!

Why wasn't she experiencing any irrational fears then? Why was she not fooled by imaginary spiders or whatever? Was that even toxin he used? It couldn't have been…At one point, she could recall in a blur that she had tried waking up and sensed that he was still near her, holding her even. She'd said his name, and he had murmured, "I'm here," in reply.

One more thing (and she could have dreamed this) was that he'd kissed her one last time before he left.

Amelia could feel her heart expand with mixed emotions, tenderness and anger being the most prevalent.

Jonathan must have been sweet and doting over her while she'd lost herself in that sleepy haze. That was nice but…but how dare he abandon her! How could he have just presumed that she would give up everything for him? Just like a man…

And yet, in spite of the betrayal, she nonetheless cared for him. In some sick way, she did, and it would be a trial to stop. She would let him go, no matter her feelings. Besides, it was seven-thirty, she couldn't risk being late for work. Ha, work…Working at Arkham again without him as her patient. Could she tolerate it?

* * *

Later that morning, Dr. O' Riley asked her if she could listen to the tapes. With any other patient, Amelia wouldn't have hesitated in freely handing over the tapes to her. However, in this case, she had to make an exception. Her short-sightedness led to these feelings she'd developed for Jonathan, this affection. Not only that but he'd had her promise him that she wouldn't share their discussions regarding his childhood to anyone else.

And so, Amelia declined.

O' Riley was taken aback by this refusal. "Dr. Harland, these tapes are essential in order for us to piece together what motivated Dr. Crane into becoming Scarecrow . He had a lucrative job here. Granted, he was quite reserved, but we would never have suspected…His childhood was summarized by him, was it not?"

"Yes. It was," Amelia answered, somehow feeling like she wasn't completely in this conversation. "But, I promised him that I wouldn't reveal that portion of the sessions with anyone else."

"You promised? Doctor, I beg your pardon but—"

"I gave him my word, Dr. O' Riley," she cut in a little frostily. "I tend to be serious when committing to that. I won't deceive him this way. However, he confided to me that he wouldn't mind if I put his childhood in a brief synopsis. Would a typed report suffice? Considering he was a case study, it would be more logical to place that report in his file."

O' Riley sighed, somewhat perplexed. "I don't see why not. This is your case, Doctor."

When Amelia stepped into her office, she was aware that her supervisor would have really preferred to listen to the tapes. However, she saw it as an invasion of Jonathan's privacy. Besides, they were meant to be used for her personal reference and no one else's. Oh, maybe she showed a little bias when it came to this subject, but he had kissed her. Twice. She couldn't help it if she felt somehow overprotective over him. He had successfully won her heart, great for him, she was sure.

But, he'd chosen fear in the end like he always had done before. Young Rebecca Albright had come close to unlocking Jonathan Crane too, and look what that resulted in. He was corrupted more than ever because he'd been given hope, only for it to be snatched away.

Amelia partially blamed herself too for injuring him severely in the emotional sense. She would claim responsibility.

With a heavy heart, she commenced typing up her report on Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow, taking particular care in distinguishing the two. It was confusing to say the least, but her computer radio would jog her thinking along.

What she thought was the most vexing part was his diagnosis. She'd never idealized one of the many possibilities that suited him. The diagnosis would have been announced last Friday if he hadn't run away. Tentatively, Amelia resolved to categorize him as having intense delusions that verged on paranoid schizophrenia at times.

All this reporting while "Ruby Tuesday" by the Rolling Stones played in the background. Listening to that song made her reflective, pensive. The gravity of the reality that she would never see Jonathan again had fully hit her. With a deflated sigh, she turned the volume up a tad.

"Goodbye, Ruby Tuesday. Who could hang a name on you? When you change with every new day…"

"Still, I'm gonna miss you," Amelia sang along, heart plunging down into an abyss.

He was out there somewhere, and she couldn't follow. Not if she was rational.

* * *

**A/N: When I listened to "Ruby Tuesday" again a couple months ago, I knew this song would fit with the story. I also wanted to incorporate it in some way. But, anyway, hmmm, make of that what you will, too. I didn't expect Crane to have a near-mental breakdown over not being able to really see her any more. See, if he does, other Arkham people will be on to him, and yeah, guess where he'd end up. And guess where SHE'D end up, probably in jail being accused as his accomplice or something. I don't know.**

**I felt particularly sad when writing Jonathan's confession speech. How he actually appreciates Amelia for staying true to who she is, even though he'd disdain that in most other people most of the time. Batman comes to mind. :P But, hey, looking rather impossible for these two, isn't it? **

**I know I've been getting "why doesn't she join up with him?" comments. Well, just trying to be more realistic. And aiming to put Nolan-esque characterization into this fic, meaning very, very realistic character development. And Amelia suddenly going all Harley Quinn on us after she's done everything that would contradict what Harleen Quinzel the doctor did around Joker (at least in BTAS)...It just wouldn't make sense. I'll just leave it at that. Send in your complaints at...XD Nah, just kidding. Hope you liked this.**


	23. Epilogue

**A/N: This isn't brief, I'm telling you guys right now. I wanted to perfect this one last part so badly that it ended up being quite long. Even now, I'm still unsure about if I did a good job and if it did the rest of this story justice. I hope it did. Hope I made it believable and everything.**

**Well, without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the finale of Patient Confidentiality.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

Over the next two years, Amelia worked diligently at her Arkham job that helped earn her acclaim. Her report on Jonathan Crane had been read first by her supervisor who then recommended it to the director. He ended up being so pleased with Amelia's keen observations and insights that he suggested a pay raise was in order. Along with the generous raise, she received additional employee benefits. Despite the raves and positive attention over her, she chose to stay here and not open up her own private practice. Unconsciously, she remained at Arkham due to the possibility of seeing someone again. However, she fervently denied this to herself. A man would have no correlation with her career choices or anything else.

What she learned over the two years was not to hurl herself too forcefully into her work and research. Amelia went out of her way to set aside quality time with her family and friends alike. She stuck with Cate, Jody, and Liz, and they shared many fun, stress-free evenings together at various hot spots in Gotham. There, she attracted the attention of a few more men, two of whom she opted to go out with. But only once—that was her new limit. She behaved in a less cool, less aloof way toward them, but she ultimately wouldn't have proper chemistry with them.

In private, she would admit to herself that after Jonathan, it felt as though a switch had been turned off. Now, she couldn't possibly attribute it to adolescent trauma but a completely different factor entirely.

In the six months after she'd last seen him, Amelia spotted his name (or, rather, that and his villain alias) in _The Gotham Daily _but not for reasons she'd anticipated. Part of her had worried that he'd been apprehended and placed back in Arkham. Instead, he dutifully appeared on court orders to testify against Harvey Dent. Strangely enough, he didn't cooperate. The report stated in actuality that Crane had gone off on a full-scale rant when prosecuted.

He feigned not knowing anything, choosing to discuss his theories as to why there had to be so much publicity over the Two-Face case. Wisely, he didn't allude to any other villains he'd indirectly sold his toxin to. He kept incessantly bringing up fear but also, in the journalist's words, "antagonizing the prosecutor."

When she'd come across that, Amelia had let slip a little smile, somewhat bemused as to the reason but deeming it pleasing nonetheless. Jonathan knew vicariously through his man that she'd once dated that prosecutor Mark Young. He must have, else why would he do this? That day, she wondered if he thought of her.

The remainder of the story read that the judge disgustedly released Crane from the stand with the latter declaring he wasn't that stable in mind at the moment. Basically, he pretended to be extremely insane. Of course, only Amelia sensed that that courtroom stunt had been an act, his satire on the court system in general. She admired him for it.

Apart from that, unfortunately, she heard no further news of him but suspected he was behind another story about two weeks after the Dent case article. Melinda Schwartz-Hill, the socialite that her high school tormentor had wed, filed for divorce from her husband of three years. And dropped the "Hill", naturally.

Now, that had immensely intrigued Amelia.

Apparently, one night, Cody returned home drunk from a night of social partying with the baseball team and yet paranoid. He was neither an angry nor content drunk but a fearful one. According to Schwartz, he blabbed on and on regarding cockroaches and how they were set on destroying him.

Lightly concerned (though Amelia speculated the woman's disdain), she suggested therapy and hospital visits. Soon, within a space of a month, those bills started piling up with Cody not being entirely cured. Fed up with how much money she was wasting along with a deteriorating marriage (Cody had been caught in a mild cheating scandal about eight months before), Schwartz divorced him. The divorce ended up being finalized a year later, according to yet another edition of _The Gotham Daily _under the Entertainment section, with her walking out with most of the assets.

As for Cody Hill, he went from a multi-millionaire to a man with a paltry $50,000 left in assets. Still plenty of money but what a fall from grace. He'd had to sell his precious baseball team to someone richer and more powerful, some man in the computer industry from what Amelia skimmed through in the paper. He had received his karmic justice, and there was nothing more she could ask for than his current circumstances.

Now, if Jonathan had been involved with Cody's paranoia that uncannily led to his subsequent divorce (though he was never questioned or connected to this), then she didn't know what she would feel. Yet, somehow, gratitude would probably describe her feelings toward the matter accurately. Granted, the action was rather extreme, but she could never hate him for it. On the contrary, she was quite flattered by the gesture, which proved he cared in his way.

And since only Melinda Schwartz had witnessed her then soon-to-be ex-husband agitated, there was no circumstantial evidence that this was Jonathan's work. There was really no proof. Commissioner Gordon could have suspected, but where was the trail? Cunning Jonathan, too intelligent not to leave traces of what he'd done to Cody Hill, not physical ones at any rate.

Regardless of whether he committed the act or not, this now brought Amelia to present day. At twenty-eight, she was still single, but that was something she could shrug off. If she found the right man, she would in time. But, it wasn't a pressing issue. Her mother hadn't gotten married until she was twenty-nine.

There would be several years yet, if she ever chose to marry, for she was in the prime of life. Best of all, she'd considerably lessened her workaholic tendencies in favor of casually chatting with other co-workers and good-naturedly greeting them in the halls. In such a gloomy atmosphere as Arkham, it was always nice to distribute some vestige of cheerfulness to others once in a while.

It was true that she had become outwardly friendlier, warmer, but she supposed that that was who she was on the inside. Something had held her back before. Maybe it had stemmed from her chilling high school episode. All she knew was that Jonathan had unintentionally altered her…but for the better. Or maybe she'd changed herself.

It didn't matter. Amelia finally found her place in the world as a psychiatrist helping people, and she wouldn't have picked a different path. She regretted nothing these days…for the most part.

One Tuesday in May, after she'd eaten lunch in the cafeteria, she resolved to take advantage of the rest of her lunch break by grocery shopping. She ran low on milk again but also wanted to test out this veggie kebab recipe Cate had given her for tonight's supper. Such a middle-aged (though she wasn't, of course) woman thing to do but why not?

As she drove to the grocery store, she thought she spotted a dark-haired man in a suit striding down a nearby sidewalk. She glanced at him, did not recognize the face in that millisecond, and sighed wearily.

This was the one unhealthy habit she had, not smoking, not drinking, or even consuming that much caffeine any more. It was that whenever she stumbled across a dark-haired man, she thought it would be…well, him. She saw him everywhere: at Starbucks when she did appear, whatever clothing store she'd shop at, at the bank, and even at work, as illogical as that was.

Apart from that, she felt relatively sane when he wouldn't haunt her thoughts like he did.

When she arrived at the store, Amelia moved fairly quickly toward the dairy aisle, ready to get her shopping out of the way and be back at Arkham on time. Approaching the milk section, she tripped to a halt all of a sudden, which made her wobbly in her black pumps.

A very tall dark-haired man stood with his back toward her, surveying the yogurt section. A cart was nearby, containing things like bread, fruit, and vegetables.

_Don't do this again, _she scolded herself. _It won't be him like it wasn't him a hundred times before. He could be anywhere in this city. Hmph, to this man's credit, at least he's a healthy eater. And striking._

Deliberately making sure she wasn't visibly acknowledging him, she reached out and took a couple half-gallons for herself and then a full gallon. Then again, she could consider him as potential as long as this wasn't Mark Young she'd briefly ogled. Wouldn't that be ironic, seeing him at the stupid dairy section again? She wondered how his relationship with the Spanish model (whom she'd dubbed Juanita in her mind) had worked out. Ah, well, she hadn't talked to him these two years for a reason. It was because he'd turned out to be somewhat haughty in his own lawyer way, and she could perhaps introduce herself to this other…

"Amelia Harland?"

She froze, fingers inadvertently twitching in front of yet another half-gallon she'd contemplated getting (it was a three for one sale, after all). That voice…That was the voice she'd ended up loving to hear those two years ago, as smooth and rich and deep as it had ever been. Her heart faintly fluttered in her chest at that sound, so musical.

Nonetheless, Amelia muttered, "It's not him. It can't be him."

Contrary to her attempt at rationalizing, she stood up from her crouching position, lifting her gaze to…

…Stunningly captivating blue eyes.

"Jonathan?"

He leaned against his cart, arms crossed, and piercingly stared at her with those intensely vivid eyes. Dressed in black slacks and a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves along with a slightly loosened tie, he appeared to be in work clothes. Either that or he was irrelevantly well-dressed.

So many emotions seized hold of her and overwhelmed her that Amelia stayed immobile.

And then, she briskly walked toward him, eyes filling up. She didn't know if she would cry or laugh or scream. Bubbling over with emotion, she stopped to merely look at him, take him in to make up for the time that had passed. He wore glasses like he'd used to according to another one of Cate's descriptions of him.

"J-Jonathan." Ashamed of the tremor in her voice, she looked away from him but not for long.

Jonathan cleared his throat before speaking haltingly, "It's been a long time. A very long time."

"It has," Amelia agreed, trying as hard as she could to rein in her nervous agitation at seeing him again and like this. It impacted her to the point that she shook. And she couldn't explain why.

Her questions burst out of her. "Why did you leave me that night? Why didn't you try to find me? What have you been doing? _How _have you been doing? OK?"

The situation automatically became less tense when Jonathan's lips twitched, and there were little smile lines crawling under his eyes. She found she rather liked him with his face that amused.

He abashedly rubbed the back of his neck. "All I have to say regarding that night is that I…I didn't entirely leave you right away. I'd injected you with sedative, put you to bed, and just spoke to you. You wouldn't remember, but I was deeply personal."

Now that he mentioned it, Amelia recalled that she'd had dreams of him talking to her gently, mentioning confessions and how superior he thought she was to him. Not once had his voice hardened with bitterness and jealousy. And of course those full lips on hers…

"You stayed," she whispered in awe. "You cared for me. And I think I registered that you kissed me."

Though not blushing, he acted the most embarrassed she'd ever seen him being. "Did you, now? Well, I'll admit I was caught up in a bit of a moment…All right, on to your next question. I didn't seek you out on the basis that you were an Arkham doctor and I, a crazed patient on the loose. I had been asked to testify against Dent, as you may know, and I dodged their questions to avoid prison time. The last time I used my toxin, it was on Cody Hill, actually"—he lowered his voice to avoid being eavesdropped on—"I despised him for what he did to you, for humiliating you as a teenager. That was the one motive I had in doing it, terrifying him. I haven't touched my invention since."

Out of sheer incredulity, Amelia's mouth dropped open, grappling all that information Jonathan revealed to her. He had surrendered utilizing his toxin just like that? There was certainly no way the Scarecrow portion of his mind would have allowed it. Scarecrow, like a selfish toddler, would have incessantly goaded him to use that toxin to control Gotham.

"Why?"

"It wouldn't have been worth it." Jonathan shrugged. "It lost its entertainment value a while back for me. Someone intervened in that respect."

He gazed more intently at her, and she swore she caught a hint of tenderness in his eyes. She was no Helen of Troy, although in this case, it was the opposite of starting an epic war. If she could put her deducing skills to the test, getting the connotation of his steady gaze right, then she was the reason he stopped. This bewildered her worse.

She pressed on, "But, even after that, why didn't you approach me?"

"I was too proud and sure that you'd forgotten me. Almost a year ago, I…I…" Jonathan released another drawn-out sigh. "I was eating at a quiet restaurant and saw you with another man—"

"Only one date, I assure you," Amelia hurriedly defended. "With yet another dull man."

She laughed at her folly before asking, "Did you think that you weren't a tough act to follow, Jonathan?"

Shell-shocked at that question, he stepped back to let that question sink in for a second. Did Amelia imply that he'd actually gained her affection? All this time, when she could have found a man to share a serious relationship with (she could have been engaged by now!), and yet she'd held out for him of all people.

Why…?

"_Crazy as you maybe?" _Scarecrow jokingly suggested, chortling at his own stroke of comic genius. _"Come on, Jon, be happy for once in your life. Amelia digs you. Lighten up."_

"So says the voice in my head," he whispered, deadpan, before saying louder to Amelia, "I would have thought you'd find someone else, yes."

She shook her head, smiling. "You give yourself too little credit. I mean, what do you do now instead of being the Scarecrow?"

"I'm a professor now, actually." Another twitch of the lips showed he tried smiling back, albeit weakly. "I teach psychology at the university. It took me about a year to study additional education courses, but other than that, I fit the qualifications. They were wary of me at first, naturally. But, as I hadn't been out committing crimes in close to two years, they'd placed a tentative amount of faith in me. I have as yet to fail them."

She simply couldn't resist beaming with pride at him. He'd taken the initiative then to build a better life for himself, doing something constructive out of the misery of his early life. Jonathan was a strong man, perhaps not stereotypically in the physical sense, but in the mental and emotional sense. Were ego and superego replacing id in his psyche? Well, if id would be all Scarecrow. Speaking of which…

"What about Scarecrow?" She clasped her hands behind her back studiously. "Has he been troubling you?"

Jonathan "hmmed" but then shook his head. "Not lately, no. Scarecrow has been more subdued recently, if truth be told. He hasn't gone on an obsessive rant about gassing or injecting. He will, occasionally, but I've been exceedingly better at discouraging him. I haven't the heart to kick him out of my mind, evicting him, you know. I've grown rather attached to him over the years."

Instead of condescending him over that fact like any other person would have, she replied, "Well, Scarecrow does have his redeeming qualities"—her face then turned solemn—"But, I would strongly advise that you visit me in my office some time, so I can prescribe you something. I genuinely want you to keep succeeding in this new phase of your life. How do you like teaching?"

Jonathan sniffed disdainfully, though Amelia could see through this ruse; he secretly thrilled to it. "It has its merits. Sometimes, the students can be rather irksome…"

_Hypocrite,_ she thought smugly, noting that enthused smile that threatened to dance across his lips.

She folded her arms across her chest, bestowing him with a sly knowing look. "You do enjoy it."

"I look forward to it daily now," he confessed with the smile apparent.

"Good." Amelia stepped even closer to him.

She grasped both his hands in hers, and he willingly relaxed into this touch. It was as though the passage of time had done nothing to damage this oddly fascinating relationship they had. She couldn't get this vibe from any other man nor did she want to. Even if he'd still been in his Scarecrow disguise, she would have been equally as pleased to see him. It had been only two years, not that long yet an eternity.

Cautiously, Amelia traced his forearm, addicted to the sensation of his warm skin. Jonathan leaned closer so that she felt his breath on her face. However, she came across something etched on his arm, and she craned her neck down to take a closer look.

It was a thin white scar in the shape of a bird peck indentation. Come to think of it, there were quite a few more just like it on this arm alone…

He hurriedly snapped up straight, making to roll his sleeve back down. "You didn't see it, Amelia. Even if you did, for both our sakes, pretend you—"

"No, I won't," she told him firmly, rolling that sleeve up. "It's been years, Jonathan. Why would you still hide them?"

"They're a sign of my inexcusable weakness, of how I couldn't defend myself from an old woman's sick disciplinary methods."

"Do you know what I think?" She squeezed his hands.

He looked agonizingly at her, seeming to legitimately believe she would confirm his so-called weakness. Almost childishly, he shook his head, displaying further vulnerability.

"I think these scars prove that you're still alive. You beat her at her own game. You suffered but survived. And Jonathan, you are a strong man for that reason alone."

Jonathan's eyes softened. "How can your opinions affect me so much?"

"Because I care as much as you do." Amelia embraced him briefly before drawing back. "I suppose I ought to be going…"

"Before you do, Amelia, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, anything."

Her heart swelled affectionately for this man. She didn't know if this would lead to love. Maybe it would, gradually, though a part of her informed her that it unfolded right now. It had started in that closet, perhaps earlier. She didn't know where this was going, but she would be brave enough to attempt seeing it through.

"Could I…I take you out to dinner tonight? For additional catching up?" he asked.

Amelia positively grinned both inside and out. "I would love to."

Jonathan smiled his widest that she'd ever seen, a half-ecstatic, half-arrogant smile. "Ah, I thought so."

"Your arrogance is showing," she joked, laughing pleasurably. "Well, I'll see you then."

What a day this had been! She couldn't wait until their first date. Oh, where would he take her? Amelia couldn't remember the last time she'd been this excited over a first date prospect. As she turned around back to her grocery cart, he lightly clutched her wrist.

"Wait," he intoned softly.

Almost as soon as she turned around, his lips were on hers.

How could she not have thought to do that sooner? Maybe she had been too anxious this time around, when he stepped up to kiss her. Oh, his lips were exquisite and beautiful, just like him. She'd sadly forgotten the taste of them and of him. No other man would be able to top his kissing. He was gentle yet passionate, pulling her intimately close with one hand on her waist and the other cradling her face. Amelia stroked his slightly rumpled dark brown hair lovingly.

And his arms, wiry yet strong…She adored this, and she craved for more.

It ended too soon for her tastes as their lips hesitantly parted when he drew back. Both of them were a little short of breath.

"I-I missed you," Amelia murmured, her eyes welling with the tears of joy he'd dryly joked about being absent last time.

"So did I," he breathed, lips brushing against hers with those words. "But…Funny, I thought you'd told me you'd never say that again."

She laughed on a dry sob. "I'm just as guilty of contradicting myself as you are, Jonathan."

He chuckled warmly. "To err is human, Amelia. So, pick you up at seven?"

Picking her up? Amelia received an incredible sense of wonderment at that moment. He was so phenomenal. Most of the men she'd dated had never offered to pick her up in their vehicles. She'd assumed chivalry was dead.

"That would be…perfect." She grinned again. "Where to?"

"I know an exceptional Italian place."

Italian! Not Thai and not some low-end burger joint either but an Italian restaurant. It took all of her proper restraint not to wiggle around in anticipation.

"I'll pay for everything," he offered.

_Yes, please do! _She thought happily.

This indeed was an unlikely man to display thoughtfulness.

"OK."

"See you soon, Amelia." His hand still on her face, Jonathan leaned forward to give her a sweet, endearing peck on the lips.

"Um, Jonathan." An impulse seized her. "You can call me Amy on occasion. On, uh, special occasion because I still like Amelia better but…"

"Very well… Amy"—he winked—"But, only if you'll call me Jon sometimes."

"Sure, Jon." She smiled back.

"_I don't give that justice compared to her. She's a keeper, Jon," _Scarecrow commented, unbeknownst to her, but she would have been nevertheless flattered.

And so, Amelia left the grocery store beyond satisfied. Tonight, she would be going out with Jonathan Crane. Not Scarecrow. Jonathan.

Jon. She tested saying Jon on the drive back and found it to her immense liking.

Despite all those trials and tribulations with him, she wouldn't have chosen anyone else.

* * *

**A/N: I think that last line does sums things up well, don't you think? I tried to add to it to make it somewhat better, but I couldn't think of anything, so this is the end result. Anyway, originally, this ending wasn't meant for Crane/Scarecrow to reform at all. Originally, it was going to be how the last chapter was, him dead, or him doing something even more deplorable in his career of fear. XD But, then, I went back and read Perides' fanfics in which she sometimes features a reformed Crane. And I found that to my liking. I wondered how that didn't cross my mind before. As long as he retained the sarcasm, the pride, and even the arrogance, he wouldn't be too OOC. And I also didn't have the heart to get rid of Scarecrow either.**

**Anyway, I'm really glad that you guys liked the story. Hope the ending was awesome for you. And thanks for making it popular. As I'm typing, it now has 65 reviews. For a 20-something chapter story, that's pretty good, so that's very cool. Tell me what you think of the ending!**


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